


are you smelling this shit, eau de résistance

by TheOnlyHuman



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, BAMF Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Betrayal, Blood & Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Soldiers, Dream Smp, Eret centered, Eret has long hair, Eret is feral, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fighting, Fundy feels like hes living in his 'dads' shadow, Gen, I watched the witcher can you tell, Mentioned Dave | Technoblade, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, War, Wilbur has a bit of a god complex did you know lmao, and they know about axe crits but they dont care, does it count as crossdressing?, eret can fight, l'manberg, literally their pov to make them badass, mentioned Skeppy, mentioned Squid Kidd, mentioned potato war, ooc eret sorry not sorry, respawning is a thing, they will wear dresses and skirts, whats Punz' proper character tag?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOnlyHuman/pseuds/TheOnlyHuman
Summary: "My name is Eret," they explained, kind smile coming to their lips easier than they'd hoped. In an effort to placate, they tilted their bare hands outwards, unable to resist knocking their head to the side in an offhand, tilted greeting. "I heard you were fighting for emancipation? May I talk to Soot?"Or:Eret is unapologetically BAMF and the writer has ditched the logics of canon.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Team & Eret, Eret & Elaina & Jameskii & Scot Griswald, Eret & L'Manbergians
Comments: 147
Kudos: 549





	1. been running wild

The beginning was so simple.

One cold, misty night, Eret walked through the wooden fences of a festering nation. Children bumbled about, laughing and smiling, clutching stuffed toys as mothers scurried, lofting last minute pales of water fresh from the well. An old man was stooped beside a stone along the lake, fishing rod set up meticulously despite its general scruffy demeanour, his face cast in a shadow greater than that of the ender dragon's. All around were gaunt faces, thin skin and bones poking out from under clothes where the outline of such should not be seen. They were hungry, depraved of what they needed through sheer ignorance to not trade with the Capitol; everyone in L'Manberg - fools out living in the wild when there was a bustling empire, a thriving city not thirty miles off, in the SMP lands.

Lanterns, some cracked, some barely candles, sat on posts, held off the browning and trampled grass to hold off the inevitable fires. Their meek light barely did anything to light up the area in the wake of a silvery moon and ashen clouds, the soft hum of a flickering flame hardly bright enough to keep away the vicious mobs.

Eret walked into L'Manberg, looked at the dainty wooden sign they'd carved into the defining fence line and instantly knew.

They knew L'Manberg would fall.

The little toy nation that begged for freedom and rights and civility would be crushed under the SMP's ire; the final embers of a dying fire blotted out under Dream's steel toed boots. This was fact, not opinion nor decision. Wilbur Soot had rallied for emancipation and had led hundreds of civilians off into the forest. He'd made the foolish mistake of bringing no army.

"Who goes there?" Came a young, high voice. The quiver of fear was barely concealed, the sudden bright eyes that stood before Eret now shining in the gloom.

A child stood before them. A boy with a sword, a shaking hand and a trenchcoat that looked like something straight from the seventeen hundreds. Blond hair stood stark in the night, blue eyes a beacon of hope for a faltering people.

Eret looked into those eyes, past their sunglasses, and saw an afraid child led to war by a fool.

"My name is Eret," they explained, kind smile coming to their lips easier than they'd hoped. In an effort to placate, they tilted their bare hands outwards, unable to resist knocking their head to the side in an offhand, tilted greeting. "I heard you were fighting for emancipation? May I talk to Soot?"

"Wil's busy," snuffed the boy, both hands now holding the sword. The clamour of children had stalled, the women backing off and pulling them with them. Eyes watched Eret now, weary and horrorfied. L'Manberg was made up of nothing more than peasant civilians who'd gotten the harsh side of life in the SMP and hadn't liked it.

There were no fighters here.

The sword, iron, not enchanted, shook closer to their chest. The boy had righted it with the aid of his second hand and it now was leveled more evenly at Eret's chest. Not that it would harm them: a boy without armour or training would be hard pressed to even touch them with a blade he so obviously could not wield.

"Ah," they said, sounding disappointed even to themself. "Do you know when he'll be not so busy?"

"You makin' fun of me?" The kid barked, voice loud enough to stir even the drowned dead.

Caught out, Eret could only tone down their inner consciousness and tilt their lips in a pained frown. "No. No, of course not! I want to help, not- not patronise you."

Their put-upon stutter seemed to make the blond feel better, the sword wavering less, the point not aimed directly for their chest anymore.

"Right, course not." He muttered. Finally, the sword was lowered to be clumsily sheathed at the boy's hip. The loose belt that kept the leather by his side looked uncomfortable, reminding Eret of when they'd been young and inexperienced just like the boy. The memories ached. "Well, Wilbur'll be back with Fundy in an hour. I- I'm Tommy. Tommy Innit, best fighter of the land!"

 _If you're the best fighter can the others even hold a sword?_ Eret smiled along, offering a hand. The boy's nose scrunched at their calluses.

"Nice to meet you, Tommy Innit. I hope we can become brilliant allies."

Tommy's smile was too bright for a child soldier.

Wilbur Soot, self-proclaimed President of a new 'nation', arrived an hour and fourteen minutes after Tommy Innit said he would. A bad thing, considering things like rebellions were time sensitive cases that needed to be handled with care. Eret nodded and bowed where necessary, silently watching the bushy eared ginger that stood in the man's lanky shadow.

"Wilbur Soot, I ask permission to join your revolution." They said brashly, when the duo had stopped in the little hut in the centre of L'Manberg's pillaged lands and had already thrown suspicious glances to them.

The man's face lit up. A hand gripped theirs, soft and unused to war, fingertips roughed by an instrument. The joy seen in the tall man's face was painful to see. "Excellent! We've been needing more fighters, your name?"

"Eret, sir," they said, the oncoming lies sweet on their tongue. "I'd be honoured to fight by your sides."

Revolution was not for the weak. Rebellion was.

L'Manberg was in the midst of a rebellion, akin to an unruly teenager striking out against their father.

The wanna-be nation would not win, nor would they persevere. Nothing could last when its only protectors were a man with a God complex, a lost man with father issues and two teenagers who knew nothing more of war than the trivial sword games field-children played with their sticks.

Rebellion was sticks in the water. Revolution was iron and steel and armour, swords and axes. War was netherite armour, sharpness five enchantments on axes, fortresses in mountains.

L'Manberg was not ready for any of these.

Not Wilbur Soot, with his red and blue trenchcoat and mouth that hummed lyrics. Not Fundy, with his redstone projects and his hand-stitched jacket. Not Tommy Innit, with his shaking sword or his boisterous laugh and gaudy humour. Most definitely not Tubbo, the little boy with his bees and his jars of honey and large spiraling treehouse that was a mix of logs and sticks.

Eret had seen war. They'd fought in scrimmages before, had slain the enemy until they could no longer see past the red on their hands. Their eyes were stained white, cursed by a witch who'd been too angry over her taboo lover's death (someone who'd been caught in a landslide, Eret being just a bit too near and too late). The witch, past the point of return, had cursed them to a blindness that had failed to work in her grief.

Eret's eyes were white, eerie in the dark and a reminder in the light. Their sword's sheath was heavy with history, thick with the dirt of battled long jotted down in books and forgotten about. Their blade was thinning from too many strokes over the whetstone, nearly broken despite the mending enchantments and the sharpness four.

Skeppy's Scrimmage had been their first. A long drawn out thing, what had first been tussles with words that had quickly shifted to deployed troops and then, when there were no more troops, mercenaries. When the money to pay these mercenaries had run out, the new way had been grabbing children off the streets.

Eret had been ten when they'd been sent off to fight for Skeppy. The scrimmage hadn't even been for a worthwhile cause: only for the rights on who could attend Emperor Technoblade's Annual Potato Harvest.

Squid Kidd had not been lenient when Skeppy had tried to access his travel routes to get to the Main Server Kingdom quicker.

In the end, it hadn't mattered. Skeppy had been calmed by a returning friend who'd popped out of the woodwork and Squid Kidd's advisors had suggested making better roads. King Technoblade had challenged both Kingdoms to a Potato War after hearing of their foolishness, had decreed the price of failure to be death.

Both Squid Kidd and Skeppy had lost. Their land was now Emperor Technoblade's, held under the Blade faction.

When the scrimmages had ended Emperor Technoblade had offered aid to the orphan soldiers, although both seized lands had done their best to hide the full numbers of just how many children had been used, just how many had died vain deaths.

They'd been lucky. Eret had lived. They'd left the lands once the Blade's flags began to fly high, taking their trusty sunglasses and their sword.

For years they'd travelled, dogging around towns and cities. Living off the land was easy when one knew what to do but eventually they'd ended up in the SMP. A server split by ideals: a kingdom with a system vs a scuff of dirt with loud voices and wishful merits.

Verging on twenty-three or not, Eret had grown to love conflict. For it was conflict that had given birth to them, given them purpose and reason even if the conflict itself had been void of such things.

On the third day of being with the L'Manbergians, the second day of laying supports for a pretty stone fortress, Eret decided to go for a walk.

Their walk took them into the SMP, deep into lands the L'Manbergian's hated with all their might. They found themself standing outside the Community House, a common locale for Dream and his crew to hang out.

It was an open house, a bar of sorts. Pool tables stood to one side of the first floor, a long sweeping bar along the furthest corner, sparkling water fizzing in glasses. Upstairs, Eret knew there were beds, extra resources that the chests lining the entirety of the right walls did not have.

There was three people inside, all sitting on little extending barstools. Dream, with his green hoodie and white mask. Sapnap, with his bandana and flame emblem shirt. George, colour-blind glasses perched on his nose, motion-deep in moving to throw his sparkling lemonade over a cackling Sapnap. Upon their entrance, the three turned to them, Dream's head tilting.

"Those colours aren't welcome here." The man said, tone sharp and brittle. George set his glass on the counter with a bang as Sapnap stood menacingly.

Eret smiled at them. "Oh, I'm well aware. I'm not too sure who designed their wardrobes, though I'm sure it was one of the children."

Seemingly put off by their statement, the infamous Dream Team remained immobile. Sapnap sneered at them, shorter by a few inches but more than willing to make up for it in attitude. He made quite the sight, long hair curled in twin buns, teeth grinding together as his fists bunched by his sides.

"They're all children, those scum. It's a Capitol Offense to wear their uniform on these lands."

"Truly?" That startled a laugh out of Eret, which only seemed to make the trio more angry. "Please, accept my apologies. If I had've known that I would've left the scratchy cotton in the fireplace."

"What do you want?" George hissed, nose scrunched. Eret watched as his hands wriggled towards his bow, making sure to keep their own hands idle and away from their own blade, Ted's Wrath.

"I come with hopes to make a proposal."

"Oh yeah?" Sapnap huffed in their dramatic pause. "Don't stop there."

"Well, the little rebel camp has pulled me into their childish games and I have to say I'm quite bored of them." That drew the mens' attention, the tense hostility in the air fading for a moment as George and Sapnap perked up. Dream was unmoving, smiley mask boring into Eret's very soul as if it would gain anything out of trying to intimidate them. "I'd also enjoy being on the winning side for this game."

"We're going to crush the rebels, that's no game! This is serious." George snapped, lips twisting cruelly. He got to his feet, off his barstool, and stalked forth to stand beside Sapnap, shoulders tense. "Who are you to have the arrogance to stand here?"

"A human?" Eret questioned, their tone oddly light. They put their hands on their hips as Sapnap pulled his crossbow off his back, levelling it at them. Eret pouted. "Hey, now-"

A twang rung in the sudden silence as the bolt flew from its place. Muscle memory responded, Eret drawing their sword to deflect the crossbolt as easy as breathing. The sharp clang as metal screeched against metal was loud, thrumming in their ears as flashes of blood and gore speared through their mind's eye.

For a moment, the wooden floor was gone replaced by soiled grass, reddened hands and the cries of pain. Everything swirled around them before they blinked and the world was back, colour and force renewed as their actions caught up with them. Eret tilted their blade, the angle just enough to affect the projectile trying to send them to an early respawn.

The bolt drove into the far wall, inches from a dainty plastic clock. Sapnap gawked at the bolt as George fumbled to wipe his glasses as if he'd been daydreaming. Dream hopped to his feet, rolling past his friends and coming to a stop before Eret. He was the same height as them.

"What's your name?"

"Eret," they said, sword swinging in their hand by their side. Dream reached forward a hand to shake and Eret noted, with great amusement, that they were allowed to hold onto their sword as they shook hands. Behind Dream, George was still peering at the deflected crossbolt but Sapnap stared right at them, something akin to awe in his fiery brown eyes.

Dream nodded, seemingly satisfied with the lack of striking him down that Eret could've done but hadn't. His mask glinted in the bright lamp light, the painted black smile the marking of a new era.

"What do you want?"

They laughed. "What can I get?"


	2. can't stop now

Eret never intended to stay in the SMP.

What sane person would've? With rumours of violence and disruption in the server, death and cruelty spreading amongst outlanders who were rejecting Dream's kingdom laws.

L'Manberg had been greatly exaggerated. The most violence they encountered in a day was someone dropping a pale of water, or someone stumbling over a stone and spraining their ankle.

Their tenure was a month in, twenty eight days to the mark wherein Eret had solidified their loyalty and mined countless diamonds for the fools and taught them how to make armour. Meetings were common occurences between the so-called _fighters_ of L'Manberg. Summoned over something as simple as finding more than three diamonds in a day to Tommy having stumbled upon a hoard of spiders and having slain them (to which Eret doubted; the boy was clumsy with his aim, even after their extensive lessons on how to wield and strike).

"I think we should build a wall," Fundy said at one of these meetings, all ginger hair, white-tipped fox ears and keen brown eyes. He stood at his end of the table, the meek group of five huddled in Soot's declared HQ - a camper van which they were running their illegal drug operation out of.

Eret stood beside Tubbo, eyes settled on the small bee perched peacefully on the boy's arm, the stench of sulfur thick around them from the brewing stands. "How so?" They enquired, eager to hear about something other than Tommy's latest 'vanquish'.

Tommy, who was not too pleased to have been interrupted during a _very dramatic_ pause in his storytelling, scowled and hurriedly gestured for the fox hybrid to carry on. Wilbur was watching his son, lips thin, eyes burdened by the dark bags below them.

"Well, yesterday the rain toppled a few of the outer fences," began the young adult, fiddling with the cuff of his leather jacket. The man, for all his loyalty, refused to wear the long coat the others were forced to. Wilbur was too tired to enforce this rule on his son. "And, uh, I was thinking _why don't we get better fences?_ And what's better than plain old wooden fences?"

"A wall!" Tubbo gasped, jolting towards Fundy. His bee remained on his arm, unworried by the sudden change in movement. Eret watched its wings flutter, lazily flopping side to side as its little antenna wriggled. It was just so _cute_ \- "We should build a wall! I agree!"

Wilbur made a smothered sigh, tired to the bone. Nightmares kept the man awake, horrible images of his friends dying; Eret knew, having counselled the older man on such worries. They'd made sure to not dismiss the possibility of someone dying, finding it all too funny to watch the man tear himself apart for bringing children to a man's mission. "How will we build it?"

"Um, builders?" Fundy asked, as if it wasn't common sense.

"Surely we have builders," Eret said, looking to Wilbur as the man rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Perhaps the sleep deprivation had gotten to him - was this the perfect time to have the SMP launch an attack? War had already been declared, just last week, and everyone was all the more stiff for it. After all, a war declaration did not have to be accepted for the enemy to carry through with it.

"No," groaned Soot. "We have no builders."

Most of the people who they'd plucked from the SMP were tradeless widows, burdened by children, or too young to have been educated or apprenticed. Eret stood, listening to Tubbo's bee buzz, wondering what its name was.

"Eret's a good builder!" Tubbo chirped, grinning up at them. If they weren't wearing sunglasses they may have needed to squint. "You're building your house right now, right? The walls are pretty big!"

All eyes were on them suddenly. Eret silently cursed the boy's attentiveness.

"Ah," they played up, floundering with mock embarrassment. "They're nothing special, really."

"And yet you're better than us, more prepared to take on such a task," Wilbur murmured. He nodded, then, seeming not so pale. "Very well, it's decided. Eret will build the walls, instructing those who can help on what to do. Anything else?"

Tommy grumped. "Can I finish my story?"

"Sure," Wilbur waved him on, content to sit by for the rest of the meeting and listen to Tommy babble about a creeper he most certainly had not killed but was claiming to.

Meanwhile, Eret mulled over their new task, already wondering how the Dream Team would take the news.

Eret pushed the Community House's door open, letting it swing shut behind them as they pewtered into the building. They beelined for the bar, bending over it to reach out a bottled water from the cooling rack and picked it up before heading up the stairs.

The SMP ally meetings were held on the thursday of every week, the only extra one having been called before the war declaration had been sent. Today, the very same day that the L'Manbergians had dumped wall-building duty on them, just so happened to be a meeting day.

On the third floor sat a large table, plush seats cocooned around it. The large oak wood, cut in a beautiful square, was large enough to host an entire map of the entire server, from the snowy mountains to the swampland on the opposite side.

Dream was the only one here, mask on to hide his soft green eyes and piercing smirk. Eret nodded at him, taking the seat opposite while they gulped down the fresh water - a commodity that L'Manberg did not have, well water sour and mossy, the lake's dirty and ful of frog spawn.

"You're early," the man said teasingly, hands folded behind his head as he rested.

"You're wearing your mask," Eret chirped in turn, fighting their bones' begging to collapse into the soft cushions and not get back up. Soot was a harsh slave driver, having forced them out into the nearby quarry with sub-standard pikaxes and young men too weak to swing them. Obviously, they had ended up doing most of the work, having to direct boys to carry back the stone.

They'd called it for the night not a half hour ago, conscious of the time and the tired bone-tense faces watching them.

"We've got a new member," said Dream, startling them out of their recollections. He tapped his mask fondly, the white a glimmering promise. "Sapnap should be here with him soon."

Intrigued at who Dream felt the need to wear his mask to intimidate, Eret raised an eyebrow, leaning back in their chair to rub at their chill-tight hands. "Indeed? And George?"

"Bathroom," the blond shook his head towards the door at the end of the spacious meeting room, timing it just right so that when Eret looked the door was opening. George stepped out, giving a wide smile at the sight of them.

"Eret! How have you been? Did you get my message?"

They chuckled as the man walked over and dropped into the chair beside them. "Yes, the arrow was a very good idea."

"Message?" Dream echoed, fingers twitching.

"George has put it upon himself to remind me of our meetings. Woke me up at sunrise with an arrow through my window."

As Dream twitched his head unhappily towards George, the colour-blind man grinned at Eret. "They're barely windows, Eret. Your walls are half done."

"I'm well aware," they brushed off, reaching for their water bottle as a headache sprung up with pounding force. "That's the meaning of a work in progress, darling."

George made a noise, wilting under the gloom Dream was sending his way. "I know, I know- ugh."

"It's fine," Eret smiled, the tilt of their lips coming easier around the SMPers than it did with anyone else. They stood, stretching so their back arched and their bones popped. Their work trousers felt tight and sweaty. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm in need of a decent bathroom."

Dream waved them off, rocking to his feet not a moment later. "Coffee, Eret?" He called after them.

"No milk, a good dollop of sugar, if you will."

"Hey," George yelled after Dream as he went to the spiral staircase. "What about me?"

"What about you, George?" Dream jested, already half down the stairs.

"I want coffee too!" Was the yell as Eret pulled open the bathroom door and stepped inside.

The bathroom was larger than any in L'Manberg, yet still small compared to most others. Eret felt themselves deflate as the door closed behind them, thumbing the lock before they sat down on the toilet lid.

Their head thumped with their pulse, a low rapacious beat that made them feel uneasy. The porcelain of the toilet was cool under them, a harsh contrast against their warm, almost wet with moisture, trousers. Stooping over themself, they threaded their fingers through their hair, only just realising its length as they pulled and it came away to hang around their shoulders.

In the silence, they listened to the house, just about able to make out the whistle of the kettle and the chatter of George two floors down. Their breathing pattern faltered for all of a moment, the air harsh in their lungs, grating against their trachea.

Eret looked up to the mirror stuck to the tiles above the sink and saw a body, lithe and thin, gaunt cheekbones smudged by pain. The monstrosity was coated in red, dripping smudged congealed blobs of plasma and flecks of dirt. An axe was held in their hand, glimmering and just as bloody as its master.

They opened their eyes, suddenly standing as they panted. The Community House's door swung open, the clamour suddenly filled with Sapnap's proud boasting. He'd brought the newbie.

Tracing their sheath by their side, Eret pulled themself from their trance and bent over to splash water in their face, using a gracious amount of soap on their hands in an effort to wipe away the blood and dirt forever stained there. When done, they straightened their back and made good use of the soft towel hanging on the rail.

The door was opened, Eret walking out to find a steaming mug of coffee at their empty space. Everyone was settling down now, the new man with a white hoodie and purple hair with grey streaks dyed into it watching them with wide eyes.

"Let's begin," Dream declared as they sat down, bending over their warm beverage. "First things, everyone meet Punz. Our newest sharpshooter."

"Hello," said the man, eyes darting around them all as if he was a shrimp in a piranha pool.

_Good,_ Eret found themself thinking. _The man has some sense of self-preservation._

"Nice to meet you," George smirked, rocking his own coffee in his hands.

Punz smiled at him, turning to stare down Eret. "I thought you were a part of the rebel group?"

"They're with us," Sapnap jumped in, kicking his feet up on the table. "Man, I told you this already. Eret's our double agent."

"Right," hummed Punz, obviously not fully trusting but willing to let the subject drop as he leaned back in his chair.

Eret snapped up the prolonged pause. "On matters of L'Manchildberg, they've got it in their heads that they need a sixteen foot high wall."

"Oh goodie," Sapnap cooed, fiddling with the string of his hoodie. "Does this mean I can burn it down?"

"Feet off the table," Dream sighed, "What's their reasoning?"

"Well, I'm not too sure myself. Fundy suggested it, said something about the fences falling over. Soot's pushed anyone who can walk to the quarries in an effort to gather stone."

"Fucking idiot," George grumbled. "He does realise they're sooner to collapse from starvation than-"

The front door banged open, a loud shrill voice ringing out. "Dream!"

Everyone stiffened, Punz on his feet instantly. Dream motioned for them all to remain silent, gesturing for Punz to sit back down. He did so reluctantly, and they all sat to listen.

Another voice, quieter, whimpered. "Tommy, I don't think this is a good idea."

Eret felt their lips thin. _Fundy,_ they mouthed to the heads that turned towards them in hopes for identification.

"Oh, shut up, furry," yelled Tommy, much too loud for infiltrating a house where Dream was. Unless the boy had plans of bursting in with absolutely no hint of surprise though Eret doubted he'd even thought that far ahead. "We're here to raid Dream's supplies, not steal his horse."

"But what if they're here?" Fundy asked, sounding worried. At least one of them had some sense.

The stairs creaked as the boys started climbing them. Dream turned to Eret and pulled a Potion of Invisibility from his inventory. Eret accepted it, pushing their mug of coffee towards Punz as Tommy and Fundy made their way up the staircase.

"Y' know," Tommy laughed, the sound jolting in a space of such quiet. "We _could_ steal his horse. What was it called?"

Eret tipped the potion over themself, vanishing from the others and standing to take the weight off their chair just as Tommy and Fundy entered the room.

It wad almost comedic to watch the two freeze, Tommy's mouth gaping open as Fundy's ears fell flat to his head.

"My horse is called Spirit," Dream said in the hush, the stint of time filled with fear and tension. Fundy began to quiver as Tommy's hands shook. "And you'll find there will be no thievery tonight."

"You green bastard," Tommy snarled with all the indigenous anger of a child. Eret measured the pros of whacking him over the head with their sword's blunt side before deciding if they put him in a headlock he would be unable to do anything. They needed to get Fundy out of the game before the hybrid smelt them and ruined everything. "You're not meant to be here!"

"Where am I meant to be, then?" Dream sniffed, quite amused by the turn of events. He lifted his hand to cradle his coffee mug, discreetly giving Eret the go ahead.

They bit down on their tongue to swallow the laugh, weaving their way around George without rippling his hair with their movements. Fundy's nose twitched. Tommy was reddening, cheeks a burning bonfire on a dark night.

"Somewhere else! Not here!" Tommy screeched, sword now drawn in sweaty hands. He'd completely foregone the tips Eret had given on how to stand and hold the blade.

_How disappointing,_ they thought and drew their blade with the shiver of metal. Fundy's ears perked but the sound had been largely drowned out by Dream and Sapnap's booming laughter.

"Tommy," murmured Soot's son. "I think we should go."

Eret wasn't about to let that happen. Not after the boys had teased them with a game. Plus, Fundy would be a nice bargaining chip for the SMP.

"Not just yet," Dream chuckled, wheezing as he tilted his head towards the children. Eret took that as a final cue and whacked Fundy over the head with the blunt of Ted's Wrath.

Tommy screamed as Fundy dropped like a lead weight. The boy near dropped his sword in his haste to drop beside his friend. In the end, the blade fell to the floor to create a ringing chasm of sound as Tommy himself faceplanted.

Eret stepped back from the scene and giggled, sheathing their blade before hopping over to reclaim their coffee.

"Nicely done," Dream commended.

"Thank you," they grinned, probably making a hilarious sight as they lifted their coffee to drink from it, still invisible. Sapnap and Punz stood to drag the two boys into loose rope, George offering them a high five.


	3. over my head in a landslide

The next day Eret stumbled into L'Manberg with a shout on their lips and a burnt note in their hand.

"Wilbur Soot, sir!" They hollered, harried and concerned. Their body shook as the man himself ran out of the camper van to frown at them. "I- I found this, on the path to the quarry."

Eret handed over the note with looping cursive on it, keeping up the act of horrified fear as Wilbur read it. They stood, rooted to the spot as the man's face crumbled to sheer rage, his eyebrows pulling down only for his lips to harden. His eyes burned a near black, glinting in the beaming sunrise that fluttered over the lands.

"Those bastards, those fucking scum. Taking my second in command and my son!"

In the brisk morning dew, Eret stood in L'Manberg and wondered if they'd went too far. _Had a line been crossed,_ they mused, as Wilbur Soot proclaimed his intent to take up the war declaration with vigour.

"They'll be okay, right, Eret?"

Jerked from their reverie, Eret looked up from the clang of their pikaxe cutting away at the quarry stone and looked to Tubbo, finding the boy's pikaxe shaking in his hands. His blue eyes were burning pools of worry, lips torn between teeth.

It was just them, down in the quarry. Most of the boys who'd helped out the previous night were too exhausted to get out of bed, a few had gained fevers and the others were too afraid of capture by the SMP, after Tommy and Fundy had been ripped from their grasp. Wilbur had hunkered down in the camper van, settled with his ink to send word to Dream of possible bargaining.

"Of course, Tubbo," they assured the teenager, silently wondering where his bee had went. "Tommy is stubborn. He won't get hurt."

"And Fundy?" Whispered the boy. His voice echoed in the hollow of the caves, the torchlight a few feet off barely enough to illuminate the entire space. Behind their glasses, Eret could just about make out the shadow of Tubbo's long coat, the boy having been forced into it at Wilbur's insistence.

Eret's own coat was hung on a jagged rock a few yards back, the sweat and heat of the caves having grown too much for them past the scritch of cotton.

"Fundy has the sense of the two." They said. "They'll be fine."

Tubbo fell silent. Then, just as Eret prepared to get back to the back-breaking work of mining, had stepped back into the dark to do so, he spoke. "I sent a message to Purpled."

They stilled, the point of their pik inches from stone. "Who?"

"He's our old friend, me and Tommy's." Came the quiet explanation from behind a wall of stone. "But when we went with Wilbur, he stayed in the SMP. I sent him a letter, asking if he could help us."

"Oh." Eret said, countless scenarios rushing through their head. "Have you heard from him yet?"

Did they need to kill Tubbo? Respawning wiped the last hour of memories from a person, if the death was done _just_ right. It wouldn't be hard for Eret to swing around and end it. Their pikaxe would be more than enough. No need to sully Ted's Wrath any further.

The boy was sixteen, just having gained the rapturous ability to respawn so long as he had slept in a bed. He'd come back, unlike so many of the scrimmager children, none of whom had ever seen a bed in their lives, nevermind surpassed the age limit concerning the respawn codes.

"No," responded the boy. "I don't even know if he can help us, I just figured, y'know, since he's in the Capitol he might've heard something. Yeah?"

They hummed. "Well, it's a brilliant idea. If he responds tell me, yeah? And we can go to Wilbur together, to make sure you don't get in trouble for talking to the enemy."

The boy fell silent. Satisfied the seed of fear was planted, Eret began the tedious task of mining once more.

When they paused for a break, three hours later, the sun was towering high above them. They plucked berries from the wilting bushes around the quarry's entrance, drinking their canistered water in small sips to ignore the harsh taste.

"You're a good guy, Eret," Tubbo said out of the blue, legs flung out in front of him as they sat by the shaded entrance. Eret, beside the boy, with their legs crossed under them, squashed a berry on their tongue.

"How so?" They asked a moment later.

Tubbo turned to them, fringe flopping over into his eyes. "I dunno. You're just really nice."

"Really?" Was their repetition. Eret knew they themself were far from nice, not after all they'd done and seen. Tubbo was just a child, gushing his hero complex out on someone he looked up to.

"Yeah, your advice is really good and you're always smiling, no matter what others say! Would you like to help me build my bee farm when we get Tommy and Fundy back?"

"I'd love to," they smiled, something harsh and cold having settled in their chest. "Why don't we get back to work? We only need a few more big slabs before we can call it a day."

When Tubbo smiled at them, Eret's fingers ached for a blade. Ted's Wrath sat, leaning against the nook where they'd left their coat. They walked past it on their way back to their mining spot, feeling hollow as they left it sitting.

"Here," Wilbur Soot gave them a thick wad of paper when they returned. It weighed heavily in Eret's hands, the pikaxe chinking on their belt in time to Tubbo's gasp.

"Are we going to deliver it, sir?" Asked the boy.

"No," declared Wilbur, eyes cold and serious. "Eret, I need you to get as close as you can to their borders and fire it on an arrow. You're the best shot here. Afterwards you may return home. Dismissed."

The man trudged off, leaving the two of them to stand in the beginnings of an archway entrance. Eret nodded to Tubbo, leaving him with a clap on the shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow," they offered.

Tubbo called after them. "Meet me in the forest, just outside of the waterfall course. When the sun's at its highest!"

Eret nodded, offering one final pinched smile as they waved. Their boots carried them away from L'Manberg, far from prying eyes as they walked down a dirt path. Once they were far enough away, they scanned their surroundings one last time and opened the sheaf of papers.

_Attention SMP,_

_Dream,_

_I write to you today with the understanding that you have unlawfully taken subordinates Tommy Innit and Fundy of the free nation L'Manberg._

_I, writer of this declaration, Wilbur Soot, declare war on the SMP if Tommy Innit and Fundy are not returned within the next twelve hours, the fifth of the month's sunrise. L'Manberg will fight for its freedom, for emancipation, and we will not be lenient._

_Regards and Warnings,_

_Wilbur Soot._

They read the letter and laughed. When they got to their castle and had climbed up the stairs to change into something more comfortable, they were still laughing.

The letter sat, staring at them, as they gathered their clothes from their bag. Eret brought it with them as they waded down the backend of their castle into the river for a wash and the crinkled paper glared at them as they swam in the freshwater river, barely shivering in the light breeze that rolled through the hills.

Once they'd bathed and pulled on their red sweater and grey skirt, Eret pulled on their boots and grabbed the letter. There was no need for wasting an arrow, no need to strain their muscles into holding a crossbow whilst aiming at a wall for a prolongued time in an attempt to hit the correct height. No, instead, Eret would hand deliver the letter.

Ted's Wrath remained in its sheath, the sword belted and secured to their waist. Eret thumbed the handle, fingers running over its ageing crossbar. Soon they'd need a new sword. Perhaps this one would be netherite.

That was a nice idea. Dream had mentioned going netherite mining at the previous meeting. Perhaps he'd take them with him. They'd never been before.

A netherite sword, full mending and sharpness enchantments, would be gorgeous. The thought made them giddy as they crossed into SMP borders, strolling around the Capitol.

Eret followed the river, as usual, towards the Community House. They passed the market place, street vendors bargaining their wares. Waylaid by a pastry stall, Eret lingered, blinking at a strawberry cupcake. It was a dollar but Eret had none of the SMPs currency on them, only silver coins and coppers from their travels.

"Heya, surprised to see you," a voice chimed from beside them, appearing with a flurry of black hair and a red bandana.

"Sapnap," they greeted warmly, turning to brandish the paper clutched in their hand. "I have a message for the big man."

"Ooh," grinned the pyromaniac, wriggling his slit eyebrows. His eyes flicked around, landing on the confectionary they'd been looking at. "You want something?"

"Haven't changed currencies yet," they shook their head, hair pulled back in a pony tail after their bathing.

"I'll get you it, whadda you want?" The man offered.

"You don't have to," Eret said instantly, their severe dislike at being indebted to people kicking in.

"Pluh-ease," Sapnap grinned. "Not like they feed you over there anyway, plus I wanna get you something. What will it be?"

Eret looked back down at the cupcake.

The man clapped his hands. "Great! Vendor, I'll take two of those cupcakes!"

"Thank you," they murmured when Sapnap pushed one of the icing confectionaries at them. The little plush strawberry on top beamed up at them in time with Sapnap's laugh.

"Don't worry 'bout it, so what's the letter for?"

"Soot's declaration," they answered, tucking said letter under their arm as they plucked the strawberry off the cupcake to eat first.

"Seriously?" Sapnap muttered, already face first in his cupcake. He gulped the thing down before scrunching up the pink wrapper and chucking it in a nearby public trashcan.

Eret hummed in agreement at the other's amusement. It was ironic how Soot thought a follow-up declaration meant anything after Dream had already declared war. So long as the fight stayed between the SMPs team and L'Manberg's so called _fighters_ there would be no scrimmages.

If scrimmages broke out Eret would leave. They disliked them immensely. Scrimmages were so much different than wars, _too different._

The front door of the Community House appeared before them, Sapnap leading the way and holding the door open for them as they finished up their cupcake.

"Eret," smiled Dream, green eyes twinkling. He was perched upon the barcounter, legs swinging back and forth as he nursed a bottle of water. He was panting, George beside him groaning. Two wooden swords sat on the counter. They'd been training. "Didn't expect to see you today."

The room rippled with laughter. The common joke now seemed to be how Soot would respond.

"He's in quite the huff," they said, chucking the papers at the man. Dream caught the bundle easily, flicking it open to read with a smirk.

"Well, I think it'll be funny if we host a little attack," said the man. "Tomorrow. How do you feel about it, Sapnap?"

The man ricocheted forth, posture fixed from his usual lazy slump. "This mean I can burn shit?"

"Yep," Dream nodded, grin huge. His canines glinted in the flickering candle light. "We'll let the boys go at midnight with strict orders to get back. Sunset we'll strike."

"You mean me," Sapnap said, giddy.

"Uh-huh."

The pyromaniac whooped loud enough to rattle the clock on the wall. "Alright! Let's go!"

Eret snickered.

"Anyone up for a game of pool?" George said once he'd regained his breath.

"I'll play," they grinned. "What are the stakes?"


	4. we'll be gone soon, just you wait

Blood ran down one arm, a friend dead in their other. A child, no older than fifteen, clutched their blade, a sword stolen from a dead body now their sole possession. If they died they would not respawn, much like the others.

"Charge!" Someone screamed. The shrill howl of blades clashing rung out, ripping the landscape in two, painting the once lush green fields a new battered red. A red that would soon turn brown.

There had been a river that divided the border between Squid Kidd's kingdom and Skeppy's. The river had been a source of fish and sometimes copper. Now the river ran red, flies and rot animals drawn to it. Soon the battlefield would be overrun by zombies and skeletons, when the nighttime came and the sun ran away.

In the middle of that battleground, amdist countless dead bodies, knelt one child. They clutched a boy in their arms, someone they'd called a brother.

"S'okay, Jameskii," whispered the child, dirty fingers tracing the boy's bloodstained cheek. His eyes had long ago been edged shut by those same very fingers. "I'll live for all of us."

And so they lived.

Eret burst upright, the fur blankets around them flying away as they panted for air. Their chest burned, eyes throbbing as those lifeless white irises rolled towards the stone outlined window. Around them, their castle was cold, their meek belongings all sitting in a bag under their bed.

The sun was returning. They'd gotten back to their half-built castle after the moon had reigned high and Tommy and Fundy had been pushed out into the dark to dodge creepers and other mobs on their way back home. A squirrel sat on their window board, beady eyes squinting at them.

"Shoo," they croaked and the creature bounded off. Drinking all those shots with the SMPers last night had not done their head any favours.

Under their socked feet, the stone floor was chilled. The spearhead of that freeze rocked through their legs, wholeheartedly attempting to stop them in their tracks as they crouched to pull out their clothes.

Each night Eret slept in the castle was one where their bag was fully packed. They did not expect anyone to attack them yet at the same time they were simply waiting for something to go wrong. The moment tides turned against them, they were capable of leaving immediately.

Small mercies they'd never before dismissed. Mercies were not accepted in scrimmages but in war they were, if the fight had a certain amount of respect centered around it. Eret did not expect to be chased out of their stone fortress but they were prepared in case they were.

_Bees._ They remembered as they pulled on the same skirt from the day before, matching it with a blouse with puffed cuffs. Eret buttoned the shirt, pulling a razor thin wire out of the bag (one pushed into a strip of fabric, to ensure it was hidden) and loosely tied it around the collar. They didn't intend to use it but being ready was more than half of warfare.

Sapnap was to burn down Tubbo's house, then, whilst everyone was distracted with that, Punz and George were to raid Fundy's burrow. Eret had heard the hybrid was mining recently and this information had been graciously accepted.

They'd also managed to bargain out a mining session with Dream, in two days time. Dream had promised they'd needed nothing more than to bring themself and a pair of sturdy boots and Eret was excited.

First though, they had to go help Tubbo with his bees before the SMP destroyed his house.

Trust was a funny thing, Eret knew.

They'd trusted people once. They'd harboured a family, kept them close to their heart just like they had for them. But then, suddenly they'd been dead and all trust was gone.

Because you could not trust a dead person.

Eret had shed tears over their family. They'd cried but when Jameskii and Elaina and Scot had returned as zombies, mindless rotting creatures, they had not cried when they'd burned the monsters that had stolen their family's bodies.

Love was difficult. Eret had loved their family. But their family was gone, yet that love had remained.

Currently, stood in a lustrous green healthy field, Eret watched Tubbo smile at his bees, each named something different. They watched the boy smile and coo and scoop honey from hives, helped him even, and knew the boy had found a family within L'Manberg, within Tommy and Fundy, Wilbur and maybe even Eret themself.

They scooped honey into a jar, honeycomb thick and sticky. Eret capped it, setting it against the pile of jars they'd already accumulated and looked to Tubbo. The boy smiled at them.

"Hey, Eret, what do you call a bee that you can't understand?"

"I don't know, Tubbo. What do you call a bee you can't understand?"

"A mumble bee!"

And they smiled back.

Later, when they'd gathered all the honey they could and had made sure the bees were comfortable, Eret proposed a lunch break. The sun was lowering, nearly setting, just an hour away from it, so it really should've been a dinner break.

Tubbo said as such.

"Okay, okay, hold your horses," Eret laughed, hands waving in a peaceful motion. Ted's Wrath hung by their side, the diamond blade dull and gloomy in its sheath. "Why don't we go down near the waterfall?"

"There's an apple tree down there," Tubbo agreed, nodding along. "We can have apples and there's a few berry bushes!"

Eret laughed along and followed Tubbo along the obscure path to the waterfall. They stood at the peak while Tubbo went to gather berries, staring down at the white mist that gently roiled off the bottom, where the water crashed against jagged stones. The fall was barely large enough to wound, the only dangers being three particularly large stones sitting out in the middle of the bed.

"Don't tell Tommy I told you, but we have a secret cave down there." Tubbo chirped, pushing a few wilted looking berries into their hand. He grimaced as they looked down to them. "Sorry I couldn't find anything better. It's nearing winter and all the bushes are dying..."

"Don't worry about it, kiddo," they said, ruffling the boy's fluffy hair with their free hand. There was a conscious lack of apples amongst them. Eret looked over to the tree and found they were untouched. "Couldn't reach the apples?"

"N- No!" Tubbo spluttered, flushing tomato red as he cuddled his berries. "I just thought you'd like to pick them instead?"

They smirked, popping a berry into their mouth as they pushed their little pile back into Tubbo's hands and stood. The apple tree was no stretch for them, Eret being quick and efficient in choosing and picking a few juicy and full looking ones.

"Here you are," they brandished an apple towards the boy, smirking devilishly. "How about a trade? Some berries for this juicy apple."

"Deal," Tubbo grinned, offering them free pick of the berry pile as they deposited the apple on the boy's knee. Eret only took a few, wary of how gaunt the boy looked.

"Fair trade," they said after having picked three of the smallest berries. Tubbo didn't seem to notice, happily munching on the crunchy apple. "If you want another apple just say and I'll get you it."

"M'good," the boy shook his head, chomping at the fruit.

A silence settled over them, a calm thing that Eret wasn't too sure to call peaceful or not. The birds chirped in the trees, a distant hum of bees echoing in the vast forest. They sucked on their berries, chewing their apple as they watched the sun waver in place.

"Isn't it nice?" Tubbo said eventually, voice quiet, leaning into Eret. His legs were crossed under him in contrast to how Eret had stretched out their long legs to cross their ankles. "Nature's so pretty."

"Best left untouched," Eret hummed. "Its beauty is most intense when people don't trample all over it."

"My mum used to say the same thing," agreed the boy. "She liked bees too. She'd sing me songs of them when I was a little kid."

Eret sat, listening to Tubbo's story as their eyes drooped, and silently remarked he was still a little kid.

Hands on their shoulders. Shaking them, desperation clear in the jerkiness of the action. The grass was wet under them. Someone was crying, the smell of smoke thick.

"Eret!"

They jerked upright, hand shooting to Ted's Wrath as Tubbo crouched by their side, weeping at the sight of smoke and flame coming from his house. There was a moment spared to ponder the incredulity of having fallen asleep upon such a momentous occassion before they brushed it off.

_It's done,_ they thought as they jumped to their feet and cursed.

"My bees!" Tubbo suddenly wailed, clambouring to his feet and shooting off through the brush like a man possessed. Eret started, blinking after them.

"Tubbo!" They yelled. "Stop! Come back!"

Taking off after the boy, they ducked under pointy branches and sharp leaves, running down the path they'd taken earlier to get up to the waterfall. The stones were damp with the oncoming dew, forcing them to slow their pace as to not fall.

A flash of black swam to their right. Eret paused before a shout and offered a grin to Sapnap. The pyromaniac swung about his flint and steel proudly before vanishing into the greenery.

"Tubbo!" They shouted in the thistle of fire roaring and wood snapping. "It's dangerous, please Tubbo!"

In the main field, Tubbo knelt. Eret flew out of the bushes to his left and they almost fell over the boy before they could stop. His house was fully engulfed, beyond saviour.

"My bees are gone," sobbed the child, clinging to Eret's coat as he shook. Eret cradled him, pulling his head into the crook of their neck and let him cry, noting the hush of the hives to their left.

The smoke had scared them away. Without the Queens they wouldn't be back.

"I'm sorry," they whispered. _It_ _had to be done._ Their smile was an ugly, fierce thing and they were glad the boy could not see it.

"We've been robbed," Wilbur said, grim in the face of fires and thievery. Tubbo stood, slumped in the corner with Tommy beside him, the two boys nearly tight as glue.

"Fundy's enderchest is gone," the President of L'Manberg continued in the hush. Eret stood, head bowed least they start smiling, Fundy drooping beside his father. Wilbur's eyebags weren't being done any good, with this meeting being held far past midnight.

If Eret had to guess, they'd bet Tubbo's house was still burning down.

"His gems and diamonds, all his armour, everything has been taken."

The moon cast a haunting shadow through the blacked out windows of the van. With the air thick with the stench of sulfur and smoke, the room seemed deathly still. Nothing moved as Wilbur spoke.

"But we're not ending this here. Our spirit has not been crushed! We will strike back! Soon!"

"Aye." Tommy whispered in agreement. Wilbur looked to him with glittery eyes and the boy shouted, "Aye!"

"We'll win," Eret declared, unbeknownst to the L'Manbergians who they were truly rooting for was not even included in the group within the camper van.

"Yeah!" Fundy piped up, voice squeaking in his deliverance. "Yeah, we will!"


	5. promised us the world

They woke in a bed not their own, heart thrumming to the beat of war drums they hadn't heard in years. Before they'd sat up they knew the drums weren't there, before they'd dragged in the first breath of the day they knew they had to get out. Beside them sat their sunglasses, quickly slipped on.

After the burning of Tubbo's house and the subseqient thievery, Wilbur had shown a softer side, ordering everyone to stay within L'Manberg and aid the building of the walls. With two teenage boys, a young adult and Eret themself, the building had went no quicker than it had been before. Although, at this rate, they projected for the walls to be done in thirteen days.

A good estimate for a project so big.

Eret swept themself from their borrowed bed, standing in the bunker below the camper van. Six blocks down, a dirt hollow that was remnants of an old cave had become their base of operations, with three bunk beds pushed down into the dirt for them to sleep on until Wilbur was satisifed with letting them back to their homes.

They fixed the blankets, plumping the pillow in the silence of sleeping breaths. Wilbur's bed was void of the man, though the others were all fast asleep. Eret would not be the one to wake them.

Slipping on the ugly long coat (the only piece of clothing they could afford to take off before sleeping. Soot hadn't even allowed a quick excursion back to their homes to get extra clothes so everyone was on the same boat), Eret stretched and made sure Ted's Wrath was secure on their hip.

Lips pulled tight, they made their way down the long dirt corridor, climbing the emergency rope ladder at the end of it to come up into the camper van's main room. They entered the front room to find Wilbur slumped over his guitar, silently mouthing lyrics to a song he wasn't playing.

"Wilbur Soot, sir," they called.

"Eret, what have I told you to call me?" The older man snapped, not even bothering to look up from his instrument.

Ted's Wrath was warm against their side as their stomach dropped.

"Mr President, sir," they quietly ammended, fingers tugging at the hem of the coat without their permission.

"Good," nodded the man. "Continue, soldier."

_"They're nothing more than child soldiers; cannon fodder for the greater good,"_ came the echo of memories.

Eret swallowed, throat suddenly tight. The van's walls were closing in on them, pushing them down, suffocating them with the thick stench of sulfur and cannabis. They closed their stinging eyes and spoke.

"I'm here to request permission, sir."

"For what?" Came the hiss, manners discarded carelessly in the wake of sleeplessness.

"Going outside of L'Manberg's glorious walls, sir." They said. "We're in need of materials from the jungle that are required should the building continue. Seeing as I am the only one capable of recognising what we need, I ask you allow me a day to travel back and forth with what we require."

Their entire plan hinged on the fact Wilbur couldn't tell concrete from gravel. For a moment they debated slaying the man with the memory stealing technique before deciding the fact that he would've died with them out of their bed to be too suspicious, even if he could've been assassinated by an SMPer.

"Alright," the man grudgingly agreed. "But only a day. If you're not back by tomorrow's sunrise I'm sending a search party out for you. Understood?"

"Yes, Mr President, sir. Thank you, Mr President, sir." They bowed, quickly scurrying out of the van before the man could pull up a complaint.

_A search party,_ they laughed to themself. _Comprised of who? Children?_

Suddenly their own joke was sour on their mind, breath coming a little too harsh for comfort. They needed to get to the Community House to meet with Dream before the man decided to go Nether mining without them.

Eret walked a little faster.

"He's upstairs," Sapnap yawned when they entered. The man took one look at them and winced. "Who got your panties in a twist?"

"Soot," they growled. "The fire plot's made him paranoid. Bastard wont even let us go outside of L'Manchildberg's walls."

"Eesh," George winced. "Rough. He let you grab a change of clothes, right?"

They harrumphed dropping into a barstool beside Punz. The purple haired man blinked down at their purple skirt.

"You weren't wearing that last time, you've changed." He said.

"Obviously," they snipped, idly reaching over the counter to grab a water bottle from the rack. "I'm finally let out of that dump to go jungle jaunting? Of course I'm going to change."

"Jungle jaunting?" Sapnap echoed the same time George made a disgusted sound.

George frowned. "How could he not let you grab spare shirts, at least? That's rubbish."

"What's rubbish?" Dream asked, jumping down onto the floor. At some point over the last few days they'd taken it upon themselves to do a mini makeover and now half the floor was decorated like a crafting table's squares. Eret wasn't going to question it.

"Soot is keeping his soldiers in his dump without letting them grab spare undies," Punz smirked.

Eret felt their pulse bead along their neck in annoyance. The L'Manbergians _weren't_ soldiers, they were just children. Naïve little boys who yearned for the wrong type of chaos and had looked to the wrong man in their quest for freedom. Silently, they unscrewed their water bottle cap and sipped at it.

"We have showers here, if you ever need them, Eret." Dream offered, referring to the large room on the second floor. The space was big enough to double as a sauna if the water was left on long enough, apparently. Eret wasn't sure what a sauna was, never having come across one in any of the backwater towns they'd travelled through.

"I'll keep them in mind," they huffed, recapping their water as they swung around on their spinny barstool. Dream wasn't wearing his mask, having stripped down to a green shirt with a black smiley face on it and netherite arm and knee pads. His steel toed boots were flopped down along their tall fabric sides, bent to just above the ankles in what Eret assumed was to get as much air flow as possible.

According to Dream, the Nether was _hot_. Burn your skin off hot, if you stepped into the wrong sector. Lava everywhere, too.

Eret couldn't wait.

"So we going to the Nether?" They grinned after a moment.

"A promise is a promise," nodded the man, eyes sparkling. He gestured for them to follow him as he turned to head for the Nether portal on the roof of the Community House.

"Why don't you ever take me netherite mining, Dream?" Sapnap wailed.

Eret watched Dream grin, pearly white teeth peaking through in a feral twist of lips. They laughed and let their fingers dance along their blade's sheath as they ran after him.

"It's usually a good idea to poke your head through first," Dream noted, leading the way through the portal. The way he vanished in a ripple of purple was almost eerie. "But since we've fully explored this outpost multiple times, we don't have to worry about stepping out into a lava pit."

Following the man, Eret stepped through the obsidian portal, boots hitting the other side with a crunch. The purple sheen moved away from them with the same waves of a stone disturbing a pond.

At first, all they seen was red. Then, the primary colour morphed into the foretold clammy heat of the Nether, dark red walls springing up around them as chests and large blocks of stone appeared out of the mirage. Beyond the walls, clearly visible past a large crumbled barrier wall, was a bubbling lava waterfall, a humongous, swerving cascade that drooled down into a floor-enveloping pit of popping bubbles and gaseous groans below their podium.

The Nether was beautiful. Eret's head could've been on a swivel for how quick they tried to look everywhere. Below was lava, above were rocky stalactites made of the repetitive reddish stone that everything else seemed to be made of and the nearest wall was coated entirely in gushing lava.

"We usually take the eastern path," Dream nodded along the floating platform they stood on, a large bridge connecting it from two sides. The masked man had indicated towards the thicker section of the bridge, a side that led towards a large outcropping of blackish gravel mounds and a headland of red rock. The other end of the bridge seemed longer, darker even. Eret was intrigued.

"Why not west?" They asked, accepting the enchanted diamond pikaxe with mending that Dream offered their way. It slipped nicely onto their belt, sitting there serenely as the man rooted through the assorted wooden chests.

The heat had not been exaggerated. Already, Eret was sweating, their shirt too clingy. Their skirt, at least, offered a bit of a relief, the light fabric waving in the nitric wind currents that hovered and swirled up to them from over the lava deposits.

"Bridge is less secure, not to mention older. We haven't walked down that way in a while, so there'll be more pigmen to deal with."

"They are the mobs?"

"And ghasts, magma cubes and striders." Dream hummed, shutting the chest he'd been elbow deep in with a thud. "Pigmen won't harm you so long as you're wearing gold. Magma cubes won't do much to you unless you get too close but they're like a hydra's heads once cut. Ghasts will blow you up if you're not careful and striders are just easy transportation over the lava pits. We've got a few docked down along the pit-line. I'll show you them later, if we pass down that way."

Overjoyed, they giggled, grinning at Dream when he turned around to finally head out.

He grinned back, gently handing over a golden bracelet for them to slip onto their wrist. "You good on food? Water?"

"Yeah, I have stuff in my inventory." Nodding, Eret let their finger run over the blade of the pickaxe. It came away with a dark reddish ash over it, small particles of the rocks it had helped mine.

Their journey took them along the western bridge, down a stone staircase and into the side of the headland. Dream forged a path through the stone, Eret watching as it crumbled to dust if hit in the right spot. By the time the man had dug down to a level he was satisfied with, his pickaxe was almost entirely red, his hands and clothes nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding stone.

"Mining for netherite is hard, with the ore being so rare and all." Explained the man. "There's a few ways to do it but I've found using balls of wool and wood are most effective. Down here in the heat and carbon dioxide pockets they blow up to reveal huge caverns."

"Sounds risky," Eret responded, watching as Dream hacked a small hole in the wall and gestured for them to step back. They both did so, nearly being smacked against the stone behind them as Dream chucked the small bundle into the gap and a spark lit up. The ensuing hole was larger than Eret had expected it to be, a crumbling alcove leading into a giant cavern.

Dream stepped over the stone on the ground and entered the arena of fire.

They revelled in the crackle of fire. "I like it."

"Good. We'll be here a while." The usually masked man laughed. In the dark, his eyes burned like twin beacons.

Netherite was found in small cubic lumps, otherwise known as ancient debris until it was smelted down. From that the miner gained netherite scraps, small spherical lumps that could've been coal to the untrained eye. Four of these scraps became a single netherite ingot, capable of being hammered and melted into diamond armour, but only after having been combined with four gold ingots.

To say one ingot was costly was a vast understatement. Suddenly, Eret understood why people with full netherite armour were so widely feared.

It meant they either had money, resources or power. Maybe all three.

"I'm from a small town," Dream said without prompting an hour or two into their expedition. Eret had taken to digging the holes in the wall as Dream planted the bundles, their system proving to be quicker than having Eret standing as dead weight. "My mom died from smallpox when I was young so my dad raised me."

Eret stepped back from the new crevice in the stone to allow Dream to stuff his wool and wood mix in. The entire face collapsed, a deep rumble signifying the new lava outpouring just ahead of them. Sure enough, a second later, their view of a dark cave was cut off by a firey stream of molten hot magma. Eret decided to avoid going that way.

"When he died, I moved into the SMP and gained citizenship. A few years ago I got elected to head everything. Sapnap's an old country friend. George is relatively new."

They looked to Dream as they continued down the pre-mined path, wondering what had triggered a sudden life event reminiscence. What had they done to deserve a story?

"I'd call you my friend too, Eret."

_There_ it was. Now came the blackmail, or expectations they couldn't fulfill. A shame too, Eret had been liking the server. Their bag, fully stocked in their fort, weighted heavily on their mind.

"And I want you to know you can trust me."

_"Do you trust me, Erie?" Their sister smiled, lips peeling back to show off her crooked smile. Eret looked at her and saw beauty, saw someone they'd follow to the end of the world. Beyond them stood a battlefield but in that moment there was only them, two children pushed into a fight they didn't want to join._

_They promised. "Always, Elaina."_

_"Trust keeps us alive," the older boy said, scritching at a beard. In his eyes shone the fires of a scrimmage but in his heart they all knew burned the fires of optimism._

_"We know, Scot." Eret, Jameskii and Elaina sing-songed._

_"I trust you, Eret," choked Jameskii, his last words._

_"You shouldn't!" They screamed to a world that wouldn't listen, begging falling to deaf ears._

"And you can trust the others, too," Dream was saying.

Eret only heard the cries of people long gone, saw a bloodied face stretched out; bloated by the sun and decomposition. They saw Scot dead in a ditch, Elaina with her throat slit by an unseen arrow, Jameskii bleeding over already bloodied soil from a hole in his stomach.

They saw their family, their past, their honour, their trust. They chanced a glimpse towards the future and saw nothing but the dark of an enderman's arms, felt only the thump of marching soldiers shaking the hills.

"We just want you to know we're here for you," Dream whispered, speaking quietly for a topic far more sensitive than he thought. "If you ever need to talk, y'know."

"And if I don't?" They broke the hushed tension. The pickaxe in their hands dug into stone without their command, numb legs moving them back automatically as Dream planted the woollen bomb.

"Then you won't."

They mulled over that in the quiet, listening to the burble of lava and the gush of ghasts far above them. Dream didn't talk about anything else so they didn't either.

"I'm sorry," Dream said when they were climbing up the bridge's stairs, having collected enough netherite for a full chestplate and boots. "I didn't mean to annoy you."

"Annoy me?" They questioned.

"Don't say I didn't irritate you earlier," he sighed. "I shouldn't have pried. I get that not everyone wants to spill their life story after a month of knowing someone."

"S'okay," they decided, already dismissing the conversation as one to look back upon later. Eret moved to take the gold bracelet off but was stopped before they could fully unclasp it.

"Keep it, a sign of my apology." Dream offered.

_L'Manberg. Soot._

"I can't," they frowned. "Soot is pulling bag checks and he won't believe I found it in the jungle."

Something about that made Dream look ruffled. His vibrant green eyes dulled for a moment, suddenly worried looking.

"Ah," he said and said nothing more.

"We should get back," they intoned, pushing the pretty bracelet back at him. "I still need to gather some stuff to make it look like I went to the jungle."

"How about dinner first? Sapnap's been hinting about a new sushi place on third street that he wants to try out."

Eret didn't know what sushi was. They weren't going to ask, reluctant to waste time when they had a twelve hour journey towards the jungle ahead of them. "I can't-"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we have something in our chests. C'mon, Eret, don't you like sushi?"

"I don't know what that is," they admitted with a sigh as they stepped back through the nether portal. The sudden heat loss made them pant, cheeks burning hot under the cool kiss of the SMPs air.

"Wha- how?" Dream spluttered, eyes wide, freckles bright amidst his heat blush. "Sapnap!" He shouted into the house. "We're getting sushi, come educate Eret on what it is!"

Three floors down, the pyromaniac let out a loud whoop.


	6. selling souls for solstice

"You'll love it," Sapnap promised, tugging them along the street. George and a masked Dream were just behind them, Punz a few feet to the left of the group.

The Capitol was bright, banners and flags at every corner, bright faces passing by on the street. It was nothing like L'Manberg and for that Eret was grateful; they did not wish to be in that _nation_ any longer than necessary.

"I love sushi," Sapnap sighed for the fifth time that hour, stopping the procession in front of a small restaurant.

Compared to the rest of the bricked buildings, this store's sleek, black varnished, wooden front looked more modern, perhaps something one would see in the main server. Its door was a slim sliding thing that Sapnap pushed to the side for them, the group filtering into the small space as the pyromaniac waved to the tubby little bald man behind the counter, who didn't blink twice at five armed people walking into his restaurant.

It was cool inside, light wooden spruce tables taking up the entirety of the right hand side whilst the left was mainly a large counter with shiny white barstools. All along the counter was clear glass, showing the entire room what oddities lay atop the cooled white trays underneath.

"Sapnap, good to see you again!" Called the bald, his stout white apron highlighting the black name tag on one of its straps. _Arnfrid_. His smile was plump and jolly, his arms spreading wide as he laughed, eyes squinting to black beads. "I did not expect to see you again so soon!"

"Arnfrid," grinned the noiret. "Can you believe my friend here has never had sushi?"

Arnfrid gasped as if playing up to an unseen script. Eret let their gaze flick around the empty room, noting a small room at the back with a toilet sign on the door. Other than the front door and the window display that was darkened from the outside, there were no emergency exits.

Punz shifted behind them.

"Please, please, sit. Chose your seats, I will bring out everything I can immediately!"

Sapnap went for a table by the window. Twitching at the vulnerable position, Eret shook their head and walked down to the farthest table from the door, a six seater stuffed in the corner. Dream followed them silently, George snickering at Sapnap as the man scrambled out of his chosen seat.

"Did you do this for badness?" He squawked, strutting up to the table. Eret claimed their seat first, settling in the closest one to the corner's two walls, Dream taking the one beside them. Sapnap took the head chair to Eret's left, his back to the wall. George sat opposite Eret as Punz dropped down beside him, blowing his highlighted hair out of his eyes.

Once secluded from the rest of the too large space, Eret eased minutely. Their shoulders, stiff from the Nether, finally lost their angle, arms sliding down their sides to let their elbows settle where they should've been. Suddenly not so compact, they jerked with a shiver.

"How are you cold?" George asked, pointing one of his small square wooden skewers towards the window his back was to. "It's barely even hit the minuses yet."

They bit their cheek, picking up their own block of wooden sticks to break apart into two just like Sapnap did for his own. "I'm not," they protested. "I just got used to the Nether's heat."

Punz shot them an odd look as Sapnap laughed.

"No way you liked that heat," said Dream, the man rearranging his empty plate on the table and nudging his glass a few millimetres west. "That was the worst I've ever felt."

"Congratulations on being allowed to hold a pickaxe, Eret," George added. "When I first went with him, Dream wouldn't let me near anything. Not even a strider."

That reminded them- "You said you'd show me one," they whirled on Dream, pouting.

"We didn't see any," he argued.

"How? They're literally everywhere." Punz said.

Arnfrid approached their table with his beaming grin and an armful of plates. Eret blinked and suddenly there was a huge selection of every colour in the world before them, the table filled with different dishes.

"Enjoy, my friends! I will bring the hot water and matcha out in a moment."

"Hell, yeah," Sapnap swooned when the owner was gone, in the action of hobbling back to his counter. "Alright, Eret, sushi crash course."

"These are chopsticks," he said, brandishing the wooden square sticks. He moved his fingers with an enticing action, flexing the two sticks to mime grabbing something. "They're our new knife and fork for sushi."

"Who doesn't know that?" Snarked Punz. "That's common knowledge."

"I wouldn't have known," Dream said, words a contradiction to how he broke apart his chopsticks with practised precision. Eret picked up their own two chops and watched Dream flex his hand. They watched tendons ripple, fingers bending and curving and repeated the movement.

"You're professional!" Sapnap gasped, gawping down at their miming action. "Brilliant! Means I don't have to act like I can teach. Firstly, we'll start with a basic cucumber roll."

He plucked a roll of rice with a green center and an outer wrap of what looked like seaweed. It was small; bite-size, if Eret were to describe it.

"You can eat it whole or bite at it," Sapnap announced before gulping it whole.

Eret watched him, repeating the picking up motion with their chopsticks as the others began plucking from the small blue plates. George wasn't too adept, failing to pick up what looked like a slab of rice with a salmon strip on it twice. He gave up with a grumble, dropping one of the sticks to spear the piece through the centre. Sapnap slapped at him, moaning about how that wasn't the way to eat sushi.

They rocked the roll on their chopsticks before bringing it to their mouth and biting half of it. The taste was sharp and refreshing, the cold roll and clumped rice settling nicely on their tongue. Chewing their cucumber roll, they watched Sapnap gesture to a yellow thing flopped atop another block of rice.

"This is basically an omelette on rice," he said, chopsticks fluttering as he gestured with them. George batted them away to spear at the salmon slabs again, triggering somewhat of a miniature war between them both.

"Your tea," Arnfrid announced, setting a large bowl of steaming water at the edge of the table. A smaller bowl with fine green powder in it was set beside it, a small wooden whisk placed on the powder bowl's rim. "Enjoy, enjoy."

"Thanks," Dream said.

"No worries," beamed the owner.

"This shit's good," groaned Sapnap, making grabby hands for the tea set as he abandoned his fight with George. Punz handed over the large bowl of hot water as Dream pushed along the powder. Eret watched Sapnap spoon out some of the powder into his wooden cup with his chopsticks, finishing it off with a dousing of water.

"This here is used to stir it," he declared, sticking the little whisk into his cup and dramatically spinning it. He pulled the dripping utensil away, handing it to a demanding George, to reveal a green frothy mixture in his cup.

"Looks like swamp water," they hummed.

"Swa- no!" Sapnap jolted, cradling his tea as if it had heard. "How dare you! Swamp water? No, not this beauty. Never."

"Oh, no," bemoaned George, monotone. He whisked his tea with the whisk before passing it off to Punz. "Eret made an observation and I'm going to cry."

"Shut the fuck up, I don't sound like that."

"That's the point," Dream said, scooping out some matcha powder as Punz poured water into his own cup. The little pot was set before them, Eret lumping some into their cup as the others had done.

"I don't like you guys anymore," Sapnap crossed his arms, looking away from them all with a frown.

"Whatever will we do," Eret jumped aboard the trail. "Sapnap isn't speaking to us, we've lost our sushi expert."

"Dark times," Punz said, just a tad too seriously.

"Horrible times," Dream nodded in agreement, more lighthearted.

The pyromaniac was still huffing. Eret whisked their tea, tapping the whisk off on the rim of their cup before setting it on the table. They looked at a circular lump of rice with what looked to be a prawn on top of it.

"What's this?" They asked, menacingly raising their eyebrows when Dream opened his mouth to answer. The masked man, of which the mask only covered half his face, from his forehead to just above his mouth, smirked and returned to eating his sushi with twirling chopsticks.

In the silence, Sapnap looked up. Eret met him head-on with a pout, lips drawn downwards as they shifted inwards to present themself as nervous. It worked, Sapnap's gaze softening as he gestured for them to point to whatever it was they wanted to know.

They pointed with their chopsticks, unable to bite back their shit-eating grin when Sap's face lit up.

"Those're nigiri, made with shrimp or prawns. Second best in my book, I like the futomaki best." Here, he picked up a round roll of rice stuffed with vegetables.

"He likes them dipped in fish eggs," George made a face.

Sapnap grinned like he'd already won the argument before it had started. "At least I don't dip my omelettes in wasabi."

"Wasabi?" Eret made the mistake of asking.

All heads turned to them.

"You've never heard of wasabi?" Punz sighed. "Who are we kidding, you didn't even know about sushi before this."

"It's the green paste stuff," Dream answered when Punz trailed off. "I don't recommend trying it. Though, watching Sapnap lick the cup clean could be fun."

"If anyone should be doing that, it should be George."

"You should dip your futomaki into the blackish sauce, Eret." Suggested George, completely ignoring Sapnap's suggestion. "It's soy sauce and is already over most of these."

"Fuck this, I need a piss." Sapnap dropped his chopsticks onto the side of his plate as he stood, only walking away from the table once he'd chugged down his tea. Eret dipped their roll into the soy sauce, nibbling at it as George leaned over to tug Sapnap's chair off the wall paint to avoid scoring it.

The bathroom door clicked shut. A chink of a lock sliding signified Sapnap didn't want visitors.

"What's the money on me keeping him in there for more than five minutes?" George whispered, leaning in conspirationally to do so. His glasses glinted in the overhead lamps, sparkling a glorious black.

"Five minutes," Punz smirked.

"Six," said Dream.

"Deal?" George affirmed. "Six minutes for six dollars."

Eret didn't know what that equated to in gold coin terms but from Punz' strained look it wasn't nearly enough to cover the physicalities of dealing with an emotional Sapnap.

"Not even ten, man?" Laughed the sharpshooter, flicking purple hair out of his eye. "I'd do it for twenty, if I were you."

"Hey now, I'm not greedy for money," Dream reproached. "And I'm sure George isn't doing too well in his saving process, right now."

They found that hard to believe. As part of the SMP, officially their anti-L'Manberg group was called the Royal Guard. Mainly because Dream was the Ruler of the SMP and had joined the team that would fight the traitors, making it official. The citizens had complete faith in their leader and would agree with anything he said or did.

It could've been cute if not for how dangerous it made Dream to his enemies. Personally, Eret marvelled at the power one man could hold. The situation almost reminded them of the grip Emperor Technoblade could've had on the scrimmages, had he intervened.

They'd spaced out. Eret blinked back to Punz staring at them, George and Dream sharing mute signals over by the bathroom door as they waited for the lock to turn.

For a second, nothing in the world was colder than they were in that moment. Shivering something fierce, shoulders jumping, Eret clamped their jaw shut as to stop their teeth chattering together. A pause and it was gone, Eret suddenly warm again as they leaned back against the wood of the chair's back. They felt full and content, even if they hadn't eaten nearly as much as the others.

"Stop playing around," muttered Punz, low enough that only they could hear.

Thinking he was referring to the bathroom bet, Eret looked over, seeing George and Dream standing in wait of Sapnap's exit. Confused, they looked back to Punz and found the man glaring at them.

"Like hell you're cold," the man growled, lips twisting in a sneer. He spoke so softly, so quietly that Eret wondered if they were dreaming this. Perhaps they'd collapsed in the Nether, the heat having gotten to them. Maybe they'd died and were in that limbo of hallucinations between death and waking up in a bed, butt naked and stone cold.

They tilted their head to the side.

"I'm talking to you," Punz remarked.

"Really?" Eret questioned. "I thought you were talking to the table."

"Listen here, you fucking asshole," he sneered. Their heart seemed to stumble over its beat in their shock. "I know you're fucking with us, playing double sided to rat us out, so come clean now and maybe Dream'll let you live."

Deeply intrigued, Eret shifted forwards, settling their elbows on the table as they bridged their fingers. "Pray tell, what brought you to this conclusion."

"Nobody joins a cause only to defect a day later," hissed the man.

"Have you not heard of the one day presidents?" Eret murmured, having heard many such tales of these people during their travels. "Men and women who were voted in one day only to be turned against the next, voted out or slain through uprising?"

Still, Punz insisted. "You're a traitor."

"Indeed, I am." They confirmed. Punz clambered to his feet so quickly his chair toppled over its hind legs, eyes wide as saucers. "Though to L'Manberg and L'Manberg only."

"Something wrong?" Dream asked, sunbleached mask staring their way. His sharp smirk seemed to cut Punz, who almost stumbled in his haste to pick his chair back up.

"Not at all," they smiled. When Dream turned back around to tackle Sapnap back into the bathroom with George, Punz glared at them with the ire of a skeleton stuck inside a cave during daytime.

Eret snickered amongst the chaos, sipping at their tea.


	7. i'll smile when you choke

Eret did not know the meaning of peace.

Such was a term that had alluded them, amidst their childhood consuming scrimmage and their erstwhile journeying that had taken up every other moment until not so long ago.

Skeppy and Squid Kidd's scrimmage had ended when they were seventeen. Never in the ten years it had spanned, seven of which they themself had partook in, had there been a mention or paraphrase of something called _peace._ Always it was the official army officers screaming at them to charge, to attack, to defend their country - a charred burnt, husk of patriotism and a pride-fuelled hunger for attention behind those words that guarded a land long lost to the shadows.

The kingdom of Skeppy had fallen long before the scrimmage had sealed its fate. In fact, the very second the blue skinned man had taken the throne, the kingdom had collapsed - simply not seen by anyone other than the men sent to fight for something that did not matter, something that would never warrant the amount of lives lost for it.

When Eret had been forced into the fight, a small child of ten years with three other friends they'd called _family,_ they had not yet noticed the corruption of the world.

When the scrimmages were cut short by Emperor Technoblade's sudden wrath, they had known for a long while what _pointlessness_ meant.

Their life had been defined by it. Their family had died for it. Thousands others had perished as well, hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of children who'd never known the meaning of peace.

Because peace was not something that happened. It was a resultant, something that was an end product of things like wars but not scrimmages. Never had there been harmony from blood split unjustly and there would not ever be.

Eret thought this constantly. Peace had never been derived from wars, only alliances and shaky treaties came from bloodied battles named pretty names. Calamity followed the world, lurked in everyone's minds; peace was illusive, frail, unseen. Unheard of.

If no one had it then surely it wasn't important.

Anyway, they reasoned, what was something so human and mundane as _peace_ to a monster?

The sun hammered down on their back, a blistering harsh mistress as they rolled the stones of a soon to be great wall into place. Eret was alone, pushing cobble into cracks and securing it with the cement. The rest of the helpers had wandered off for a lunch break three hours ago and not returned.

Eret didn't have the force to go and drag them back. As it was, they could barely hear the clunk of stone settling past the pounding in their head.

A while ago, they'd been humming. That had stopped quickly upon the realisation that the vibration made their eyes ache as if they were about to pop out of their skull. Their fingers were brittle and chilled, their skin risen in goosebumps despite how warm their veins felt.

There was no doubt they were sick but never before had Eret allowed sickness to slow them. If they slowed they were dead. And they had to live. _Needed_ to.

They'd travelled through entire servers when sick, some of those journeys had taken weeks. A wobbly balance and a pounding headache wasn't going to halt their tracks. The wall would never be built if they required a sit-down every five minutes.

And the wall was going well. They'd borrowed some jungle wood from the Community House, flaunting it to Wilbur's uncaring ears as the best find of the century. In reality, the wood was laced with a special sap that began deteriorating the moment moisture hit it. Within the clammy walls chock full of cement and rubble, the sap would activate and begin chewing away at the wood.

Seeing as the wood would be the main component of the wall, Eret predicted its stability would begin to falter after around a week. Wilbur Soot wanted walls; never specifying for ones that would withstand the testament of time herself. It was likely a few choice bombings would destroy their work before any instabilities made themselves known but it was the thought that counted.

Teeth gritted hard enough to crack the stone they laid, Eret finished their section with a final stone. So far the walls were around twelve foot. It would take another few days to stack up along the top layers, extra difficulty coming with the guard stands that Soot wanted to run along the top.

But that wasn't their problem today. They'd make the lazy L'Manbergians do the final four feet and the crows nests and they'd sit in a tree and shout orders. If Soot got away with it, there was no reason they shouldn't.

Struggling for air, they lowered themself onto a particularly large rock and breathed. Around them swirled the wind, the currents singing their songs of dismay as they sat at their meeting points. Grass crunched a few feet to their left, a twig softly cracking under a light tread.

"Eret," a voice chirped from behind.

"Fundy," they greeted, fingers digging into their trousers. Sword laying slanted against the slope of their chosen perch, they twitched. "Lovely day, today."

"It is," agreed the man. He sounded nervous. "Your wall is going well."

"I'm aware," Eret said, the chilly breeze scraping along their windpipe as they turned to the right to pant for air. Their lungs seemed a little too small all of a sudden, chest a bit too tight.

"Yes, ah, well," Fundy stuttered.

Eret offered no non-sequitur. Not that they could, really, with a worrisome problem concerning their current lack of oxygen intake. Fundy filled the silence with shuffling, fiddling with the lapels of the long coat Soot now made _everyone_ wear. The only people who wore it of their own free will were Wilbur and Tommy, at this point.

Tubbo wore it because Tommy insisted, Eret was forced to and Fundy faced the risk of disownment if he refused his father's wishes.

In days of warfare, no one was spared Soot's vehemence.

"Eret," Fundy finally said.

Bone tired now that they'd regained lost breath, Eret nudged their sunglasses further up the bridge of their nose and looked to the hybrid. His ears were flat against his head, nearly blending in with his mess of curly white and ginger hair.

"What's the matter?" They pried softly.

"I-" he trailed off, biting down a sigh before straightening abruptly. Fundy squared his shoulders and squeezed his hands into fists, nails digging against soft palms.

Eret watched the blood bead from his hands and wondered what was bothering the man.

 _Only nineteen,_ reminded a voice. _He's just a boy._

"Will we ever get peace?"

If the question was a whip, the air crackled for its strike. Fundy's eyes seemed to blaze as he stood firm, begging yet asking all at once.

They had no clue what to say.

 _I don't know what peace is,_ they thought of saying.

 _All wars eventually end,_ was their second thought.

The stretch of silence was pregnant, a low thrumming worming between the two of them as they stared one another down. Fundy was being honest, baring his heart for the world to see, beyond L'Manberg's walls. It could've been his downfall and had Eret actually been able to make out the dew on the grass in front of themself, they would've most certainly taken advantage of the boy.

But they didn't. Fundy spoke on.

"I know that Tommy thinks we'll win and Wilbur makes all his plans and his backups so that we do but, do you think we'll ever know peace if we really do break off from the SMP?"

"L'Manberg already has," they managed. "The SMP would hang any of us if we stepped foot in their lands, moreso now that war is official."

"I, right," Fundy nodded, head turning as he glanced back over his shoulder, to the wide forests that cunning eyes could lurk in and creatures would stalk, waiting for the weak to enter the darkness so they could prey on them. "Do you- You think we'll ever gain emancipation, Eret?"

"If you fight for something hard enough you'll get what you want," they declared, recalling their own promises to people long dead. "We'll win."

Fundy was reassured for the words not meant for him. Eret said nothing more on the topic, gazing at the looming figure of their wall until Fundy murmured his goodbye and took his leave. Still, they sat, legs like jelly on their rock, blood thumping under their skin.

They sat and wondered if they'd laugh when L'Manberg would fall or if they'd fall with it.

Fate had never liked them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short one,, got tired and then had a couple essays to do. next one might be longer.   
> thanks for all the kudos, comments and support! <3


	8. stumble and fall, they'll caterwaul

Only after Fundy left did Eret realise their missed opportunity for fear mongering. Deeply annoyed at themself, they stood from their rock and began a slow pace on another section of the wall despite their doubling vision.

They should've said peace was fragile. It was weak and even if L'Manberg, somehow, won the war, they were not guaranteed a ceasefire. Eret had heard of wars that waged for centuries, carried on throughout entire generations of families, passed down like an ancestor's scrap of cloth.

Peace did not promise anything. The word meant nothing in the long run, simply giving small minded peasants an inkling of safety. Peasants that felt safe were far better than ones that did not, even if they weren't truly free of wrath. So long as Eret dug their claws in quick enough, planted a few more seeds of uncertainty, everyone would know peace was a fallacy.

Eret had made their fair share of mistakes, their own platoon of dumb ideas, they'd grown up too quick and those thoughts had spiralled into something oblique and dangerous amidst the sublime smiles, the mud that became face paint and the cautious planning.

They would win this game. L'Manberg would tumble like a mountainside succumbing to a landslide. The rebel scum would crumble akin to how ancient ruins toppled under the groans of the earth shaking. And, then and there, Eret decided they would grin at the citizens before sealing their fate.

Presently, they rocked another stone into what would be their great wall and watched the dark clouds cresting the horizon. A storm was brewing, one they did not wish to weather but would need to.

The rains came a day later. The rebels of L'Manberg and Eret sat in the camper van, watching the rain pour down from the sky through the small black tinted windows.

Soot was still in bed, asleep since he'd collapsed into his bunk long after the moon had fallen. Eret had been up all night, differentiating between prowling along the wall and climbing into the camper van to sit at the meeting table to twiddle their fingers. Currently, everyone was gathered around said table, Tubbo and Tommy whispering as their eyes flicked from each other to the pouring rain outside. Fundy was fiddling with something, a little metal chip that he claimed could help them train if he got it working.

Eret themself was bored. They'd been stuck inside for the last six hours, unable to soothe their buzzing veins or make themself go downstairs to the bunks for sleep. Stuck with burning eyes but a bristling urgency to be awake, they were unable to do anything more than slump in their seat with their glasses pushed up as far as they could go. With nothing more to do, a waiting wall unaccessible by heavy rains, there was only so many times they could sharpen a sword before it blunted.

Their head still pounded, tapping in time to the harsh sound of the rain pattering off the metal roof of the shack named a van. The sound didn't seem to be annoying anyone else, in fact Fundy even had his ears perked for the sound. Eret said nothing of it.

Sickness was a weakness. If anyone knew of it, the tides could be turned against them. Eret would win this game. A little warm blood and a hammering head wasn't going to stop them.

It hadn't before. Not when they'd been trolloping around the servers for years on end. Eret had made it out of the scrimmages alive, despite how their ears had rung and their throat felt tight after their family's demise. A common cold could not delay their progress. Though, a storm would.

"When's it gonna stop?" Tommy huffed suddenly, loud enough to rouse dead half the continent over. "I have things to do, people to see, women to charm!"

"Yeah, right," Tubbo snickered, unnsuccessfully smothering his laughter behind his palm. His eyes squinted in joy, the sight an offputting one for Eret, who wanted nothing more than to leave L'Manberg and her stuffy people behind in the dirt. Tommy scowled at him, frown too heavy for a boy so young. "You're just going to roll about in the mud."

"Five shillings bet that he'll slip in a puddle when he jumps out the door," Fundy offered up despite his distraction. The metal in his hands wasn't looking any better than it had earlier, little wires peeking out at the corners. As if to agree with Eret's uninformed assessment, the little thing sparked, the light brightening the room in a moment of clarity that had everyone's heads swivelling round.

"God damnit," hissed the hybrid, slamming the metal down on the rickety table to wide eyes all around. The wood wobbled as the metal shattered, exploding outward in a small collection of wires and melted copper. Fundy moaned belatedly, "Why do these things never work?"

"Maybe you should go into weather measurement, furry boy," Tommy grinned, braces glinting in the shine of the gloom. In the aftermath of the light burst from Fundy's device the room seemed darker, the rain outside more ominous now. Eret glanced out the window in front of them, noting how the visibility was next to nothing. A man could walk out and fall straight into a hole if he wasn't careful.

"It looks like it'll flood," they said in the irate hush where Fundy was gathering his verbal resources for a muttered retort. "The rain's not letting up."

In the lull where the boys churned over that thought, the trapdoor that led down to the bedroom corridor opened, a scruffy haired Wilbur heaving himself out of the dark. All heads turned to the President as the man scoffed, foot kicking shut the wooden door with a clank as he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked peeved.

"Why aren't you working on the wall, Eret?" The man demanded, squirrelly brown eyes trying to ask a thousand questions as they squinted at Eret's sunglasses.

"No disrespect intended, Mr President, sir," they began, back straightening as their shoulders squared up instinctively. "But the rain's just too heavy."

"What's a little rain compared to a blooming nation?" Soot barked, lips twisting in a terrifying sneer. Something in the man's face, be it the glint of rage in his eyes or the virulent promise to his snarl, made Eret internally flail. All of a sudden, they were queasy, stomach shrivelling in on itself as their breathing came shallow.

"Get out there, soldier!" Boomed the man. Eret saw a commander screaming at them, ordering for a charge towards Squidd Kid's army of lost souls. It was Diadom's children versus Squtra's children all over again.

They were on their feet before they knew the reason why. Their legs were cold and numb, pins and needles spearing through them like burst blisters but in that moment, nothing registered to Eret aside from the screaming in their head.

"Run along the patrol route in full," demanded Soot, not yet aware of the power he had whilst Eret couldn't breathe. "I want a full debrief on it later tonight. Once that's done, continue with the wall. Great kingdoms were not made overnight! How long do you think it took Technoblade to amass his armies?"

Panic made their fingers tingle. Stiffly, they bowed to Soot and pushed themself towards the front door. They slammed it shut behind them, body jerking under the onslaught of water. Everything stung, from the roar of thunder up above to how their boots sunk into the mud with horrible squelched gurgles.

_"We fight because we have no other option,"_ Scot murmured one sunny day, where the tents weren't quite as waterlogged as usual and their socks were actually drying on their string line. _"Don't you wonder what it would be like if we didn't have to?"_

_"Careful, Scotty,"_ Jameskii had smirked, taking pointers from Elaina on how to stitch up the three inch gash in his side. His grey shirt was stained through in blood, a deep purple that would fade to brown within the hour. _"That's treason."_

_"Screw treason,"_ they had whispered in turn. _"When this is over we'll go travel the servers and laze about. We'll know what the other options are like."_

_"Soon?"_ Elaina wondered. Eret looked to her, their blue eyes holding a promise.

_"_ _Soon,"_ the four chorused.

Their boots sunk inch deep, mud grasping at their covered ankles. The suction was tight, a hugging clutch around their numb feet. Eret trudged on, burning fingers wrapped around their blade's hilt. They looked up to the dark ravenous sky just in time to see an arc of lightning split through the sea of blackened clouds as if a candle held against the shadows of a corner.

Rain splashed down on them, their clothes plastered to them. The long coat was heavy, water having seeped into it, the cotton laborious. Eret's headache grew worse, their skin scolding under the chill of the stormy day. Already the water had settled upon impermeable soil, the puddles clutching at their heels where the mud did not. L'Manberg would be flooded within the hour. Eret could not care less.

They gasped for breath and swallowed water instead. Tongue burning, throat tight, chest too warm, they stumbled to the gates of L'Manberg and began the trek along the border.


	9. from soldiers at haste to the edge of the world

Lightning wailed above them, painting the sky white in its ferocity.

Eret had stumbled along half the patrol route without coming across any spec of life, having only found leaves and weeds to be waving about out in the open. Tree branches strained under the winds, the bark crunching with the gales that swirled Eret's braid and made their long coat slap at their knees. No animals were out, all possessing some sort of brain that did not require for them to relieve their worst memories and dumbly follow brazen orders with a ringing in their ears and the harsh panting of their own lungs riveting in their head.

They wanted to slap themself, something they had already done upon coming to their wits and finding themself swaying drunkenly in the middle of the forest. Now their cheek was number than their hands, their muddied boots hiding burning ankles.

By some chance of fate, they'd wobbled down to the docks. Just within L'Manberg's territory, the wooden pier was old and useless. The SMP had put up no fight over it, mainly conscious of the monster-breeding grounds the dark caverns beside it made.

Eret had been put on patrol. That meant you came back with a monster head or found yourself stuck with a lecture. With their head jumping along to its own beat already, Eret didn't think they could take having to listen to Soot. Especially not after the shambles they'd made of themself earlier.

The costs of needing to remain undercover were immense. It was times like these Eret wished they could draw their blade and cut Wilbur Soot's head from his shoulders to demonstrate what true power was. But alas, they could not.

A low murmur broke their thoughts. Startled, Eret cast their gaze around, hand tightening on Ted's Wrath's handle as thunder boomed in the distance. They disliked storms, the natural phenomenon always a cruel reminder of sweet Elaina and the memories of her and Jameskii jumping about in puddles while Scot sat with Eret, wrapped up in a blanket the other two would soon jump onto.

They expected to find a mob, hence their reasoning for coming down to the docks after their delirium. The sooner they cut a zombie head off, the sooner they could get back to half-ass a wall. At the rate the rain was going they'd be lucky if they came back to any wall at all.

A hushed whisper echoed from one of the caves down by the sandline. Eret drew Ted's Wrath, revelling in the hum of its enchantments against their skin. Lightning flashed, lighting up the sea as they stalked towards a point where the pier dipped down into old crumbled steps. Deciding to forego the structural calamities, they skidded down a sandy bank, rocking to their feet as the sand pitted around their boots. A few feet away, the sea crashed against the pebbles and sand, unable yet to reach them.

Within the caves, a small flicker of light shone. Instantly weary, Eret prowled forth, sword ready by their side as they entered the wide cave.

It was tall enough that they didn't need to stoop, although they did so out of habit, bending at the knees for a better grip should they need to lunge. The light flickered, a torch, likely left from a recent mining expedition - judging from how low burnt the wood was. A few more minutes, maybe a half hour, and the torch would be nothing more than ash.

"Who goes there!" A high pitched voice shouted, almost in Eret's ear with the forceful echo.

Breath caught in their chest, they jerked back, Ted's Wrath held sternly before them. A woman's sharp eyes emerged from the dark, hovering near the flickering torch. In the sparse light, Eret could just about make out a ragged pink jacket and dirty, blue jeans.

"Should I not be asking you that question?" Eret fired back, voice at a more moderate level as to not deafen themself with the echo back. Hesitant to introduce themself as a L'Manbergian, they weighed their options.

The woman could be homeless, camping out in the caves or simply stuck here due to the storm, caught out during a mining operation or something of the sort. Though she held no pikaxe and her shuffled steps were too light to indicate a mass-bearing weapon. Either an arrogant, over-confident camper or a miner with gear in another location.

They didn't like either possibilities, both of which were grasping at straws thanks to their buzzing head not allowing for more conscious thoughts. For all they knew, she could've been sent to kill them.

Their nerves spiked, breath rattling in their chest. In the silence, Eret's throat constricted, lungs seizing as they choked on phlegm and spluttered on saliva. Their cough was a harsh bark, a clear indication to how weak their chest was feeling was not just an overextendation of their imagination.

"That doesn't sound too good," the woman said, hushed and closer than before. Eret looked up from their shaking hand to find her eyes boring into theirs. Paranoid, they jerked back, sword swinging up to reclaim the space between them.

"Woah," exclaimed the woman, hands shooting up to showcase the lack of weapons in her hands. Her eyes seemed to shine with worry. Eret couldn't understand why. "Please, I'm unarmed. I don't mean to hurt you."

Eret opened their mouth to speak only to find a wheeze rattling their core. With their oxygen sucked away, they struggled for breath, a cough being muffled into their free arm's elbow. Eyes narrowed in a irate squint, they glared at the woman who, for some reason, was beginning to look sympathetic.

"Who are you?" They gasped when they'd stopped hacking up a metaphorical lung. At least, they hoped they wouldn't. From their years of living they'd learnt people generally needed both lungs to survive. Elaina would be so disappointed to find they'd died to having one less organ than necessary.

"Crumb. My name is Crumb." She didn't ask for theirs.

Eret coughed again, spitting phlegm. Crumb winced, face still hidden by the dark. The torch gave one final flicker before going out.

Suddenly petrified the woman would somehow turn into a zombie and swing for their brain, Eret stumbled back. They miscalculated, balance off now that their head was spinning, and clattered to the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" Crumb wailed, all too loud for their sensitive ears. "I'll light my other torch! I never should've let it go out-"

"Shh," they slurred, chest heaving as they fought for breath. Crumb fell quiet as the snap of a flint and steel rung out, a flame roaring to life as a new torch replaced the old one. In the orange light that seemed to envelop the shrouded cave, the woman's hair shone gold.

On a second glance, she looked to be no woman at all. They doubted she was any older than Tommy and Tubbo. What was a child doing out by the docks?

The thought made their head hurt until it spun so bad they had to lay down lest they faint. They clutched Ted's Wrath as tightly as they could as the girl hovered over them.

"I, uh, I have enough to make soup. Do you, could you keep it down, you think?"

Overtaken by a coughing fit, they slumped in on themself, now curled on their side in order to adequately spit out the bile that accompanied the phlegm.

"Ah," whispered Crumb. "You're soaked. I have a blanket that could cover you, if you want to lie on my sleeping bag while I hang up your clothes?"

She looked back to an unlit campfire, now visible in the light. Beyond the cave, lightning slashed down. A sleeping bag sat, rolled up, on the floor opposite the fire, a loop of rope tied from one stalagmite to another.

"Lemme alone," they tried, weakly proping themself up on an elbow in an attempt to crawl away from the mop of glimmering blonde hair and bright blue eyes that seemed far too kind. Eret was no fool, they knew of situtations like these - where the weak trusted the strong and were killed for it. Child or not, all it took was one good swing and Eret would be bleeding out on the stone ground.

"You're sick," protested the girl, as if they didn't already know that. "Please, I just want to help. You'll freeze to death out here."

Exhausted and growing weaker by the second, Eret couldn't find the strength to speak. They settled for glaring at her.

"Okay, well, we can make an agreement! You can hold your sword for as long as you want and slash at me if I make you uncomfortable or cross a boundary. Please, just let me help you."

The rain hammered down heavier. Their body felt heavy, like an anvil had been dropped on their hip and they were wilting with it.

"Kay," they mumbled, accepting and allowing the teen to do the majority of the work in getting them over to the sleeping bag. Once there, she pulled the ugly coat off them, hanging it on one of the stone spikes as she stoked the fire back to life.

Wrestling their shirt off, they let it drop to the floor before slumping back against the stone wall. Under them the sleeping bag seemed so much warmer. They toyed with the idea of taking their sodden trousers off too.

"What about your trousers?" Questioned Crumb, meek as she flapped out their wrinkled waterlogged shirt and wrung it out. The puddle it formed was sizeable.

Eret made to shake their head but failed, neck useless as their head lolled onto their shoulder, the back of it tapping off the cool stone wall. It was as if the long coat's scratchy cotton had been stuffed inside their head through their ears, their mouth scraped dry by it whilst their brain roiled in agony. Their whimper echoed in the cave, the fire flickering with a warmth they couldn't feel.

"Hey, 'scuse me?" Crumb called, the girl's blotchy shadow turning in their direction as Eret's eyes slipped shut.

"Easy," a familiar voice murmured, the comforting embrace of an old blanket wrapped around them a soothing difference to the musty sheets they'd grown used to with L'Manberg. A large hand stroked through their mess of hair, a soft humming resonating through the air.

Eret opened blue eyes to a canvas tent and their head in Scot's lap. Elaina and Jameskii were coddled around them, bodies pillowing them to keep them immobile, the two fast asleep. Scot smiled down at them, his soft eyes and strong face a reassuring sight.

"Missed you," they slurred out, unharried as rain pattered against the tent, the sound muted by Jameskii's soft gasping snores.

"I miss you too, Erie," Scot murmured, folding in on himself to press a dry kiss to their wet forehead. With their legs strewn out the length of the canvas structure, their family wrapped around them, Eret let themself relax, freely offering Scot a beaming, fever-hot grin. "Get some sleep, yeah? You'll need it."

"M'kay," they agreed easily, letting go of their grip on reality with a simple exhale. "Love you, Scotty."

"Love you too, kiddo."

The ragged embrace of leather pressed against their hip. Startled into consciousness, Eret jerked upright on the wooden boards of the pier, Ted's Wrath sheathed on their belt as they nearly rocketed themself into the churning sea before them.

It was raining, still. Thunder boomed around them, the cascade of sound making their head pulse with their heart. Eret sat on the sodden wooden boards, distantly remembered a hazy memory that wasn't truly a memory and spat phlegm into the waves.

"Fucking hell," they mused, head dropping back to let water gather on their sunglasses' lense rim. Soaked to the bone, teeth chattering, they thought of the little sprite they'd dreamed up called Crumb and choked on a laugh.

"A fever dream," they whispered to no one but themself, choosing to ignore the dream of their family that created a hollow feeling in their chest. "God help me."

They'd need all the help they could get.


	10. these roads we took to walk so far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's be real: this entire story us a trigger warning. Sorry?

Eret wavered, legs ready to fall out from under them at the slightest hint of provocation. If they stepped in mud and sunk three inches deep, their ankles would give up the ghost, their kneecaps would lock and they would buckle there and then.

They hoped to make it to the Capitol before such a thing happened.

Having gone too far out to the perimeter of L'Manberg's lands, they'd groggily worked out that it would take longer to get back to the puddle of wooden huts than it would to take a shortcut through the forest to get to the SMP. So, they would pop into the Community House, bitch about Soot whilst the rains died down before returning to the figurative hellscape that a lunatic ran.

Plus, they were almost sure L'Manberg was to flood under all the rain. Eret's feet were wet enough as it was.

_"_ _We've survived enough rain for a lifetime,"_ murmured a weary, old voice. Scot had spoken like an elder yet looked like their brother. _"It's time we saw some sunshine."_

It was their own muffled snort that made their head explode in sharp, piercing streams of light. Their vision wavered on the threshold of undeterminable, flecks of black and purple shimmering waves coating their sight in blotches that were so different from their usual greyish (after the failed curse everything had been so _dull_ , the vibrancy and life of the colours just gone) scheme.

They closed their eyes to lean against a tree, slumping against the sharp bark more than they'd admit. Stomach flipping, hands the only things left shaking, they doubled over with their hands on their knees and choked up enough bile to drown in.

The wind howled. Leaves bristled. A twig snagged a weed as the wood fumbled along the grassland, the small split tugging the dandelion from its roots. Eret watched it go lazily, hacking and choking on a gasping cough as they quivered.

A little while ago they'd stopped being so cold. The harsh, biting coat on their skin was no longer felt past the all encroaching numbness. That was a bad thing, they knew, yet they couldn't bring themself to care.

_Th_ _e killing cold,_ Eret thought and wiped their mouth with soaked sleeves before pushing off the jagged tree. As the world swirled around them, they contemplated the positive effects of collapsing in a gullet.

They were tired, although thankfully not too warm. The Nether had been nice but they disliked immense heat on most days and they were grateful now that they weren't suffering from chapped lips and flushed skin because of the sun. Though, they wondered if they were better off dying to a storm than the heat.

Eret shut their eyes in the forest and opened their eyes to the barren streets of the Capitol.

Litter rolled on the stone, doors were bolted shut, window boards rumbled and clattered in the gales loud enough to give the thunder a run for its coin. Torches were out, the burnt husks gone as the few unsaved lanterns lay shattered. Lightning flashed, sending the whole city alight with bright, white spears.

Ted's Wrath sat on their hip, hushed and paranoid. It took them far too long to worm around the city before coming upon the Community House. Their legs were ready to crumble from under them and they were very exuberant about the idea pertaining to the concept of crumpling into bed.

"Eret," Dream greeted, looking up with a great smile that quickly morphed from happy to confused to concerned. "What- are you alright?"

In the straining heat of the House, the fireplace roaring in the corner beside Dream's coffee table-located card game, they were ready to drop. On their first step inside, the door slammed shut behind them with a bang and their legs wobbled. Come their second step, eyes burning something firece as they struggled to breathe, an arm was around their shoulders, keeping them upright just as their knees strained.

"Geez, man," Sapnap said, quieter than usual, his arm being the one to aid them. Eret's ringing head was grateful for the out of character action. "You're scalding me and we're not even skin to skin. Do you wanna sit?"

Disallowed, their eyes fluttered shut. Although, Eret remained conscious enough to register how they fell into Sapnap's chest, knees finally buckling as their lungs lost all their air.

"Sweet fuck," hissed the pyromaniac. "A little help here?"

There was a clatter accompanied by the quick shuffle of harried movement before another arm hooked around their other shoulder. The flash of green in their slitted peripheral alerted them to it being Dream, the clap of socked feet bouncing down the stairs coming only for a gasp to echo in their cranium.

"Oh my god," wailed George as Dream and Sapnap began shifting them towards the very stairs that George stood on. "What happened? Are they hurt?"

"They're too warm," Dream said, tone sounding tight and pinched even to Eret. They were unable to squash the whimper at the thought someone else was angry at them too.

Why couldn't they just do things right for once? Surviving wasn't meant to be this hard.

"Sorry, Eret, it's okay," Dream hushed them, suddenly reassuring and soft as Sapnap rubbed circles into their back. The emotional whiplash made their headache worse and they somehow lost greater control of themself, now unable to raise their head. The two men took their full weight easily, guiding them over wooden planks. "Look, we're upstairs already."

Eyelids peeling open, they noted that yes, indeed, they were upstairs. George was gone, but as they were eased towards the direction of the beds, they glimpsed a surprised looking Punz sitting on his purple covers. In an instant the magazine in his hands was discarded, the man lunging to his feet in a flurry of haste.

"Do you need me to grab anything?" The sharpshooter asked. "They look dead on their feet."

"See if we have any clothes that could fit them," Dream ordered. "I don't want to put them to bed with nothing on if they're not with it."

"Want me to help with the shower?" Sapnap queried softly. Eret, barely conscious, remained slumped uselessly between the two.

"Go get towels," Dream said. "I won't wash them, this is just to warm them up."

"They're boiling, Dream," came George's voice. "I don't think they're cold."

"They're soaked through," said the freckled blond. The vibration of his voice shook his chest and, in turn, Eret. "Hypothermia is a real risk. They're not even shivering."

"M'not cold," they slurred weakly. Dream pulled their left arm completely over his shoulders as his right hand pressed a burning hot grip into their side.

There was a silence. One that went for so long that the entirety of the war could've passed. Eret worked their eyes open, barely able to comprehend the different shades of light that flickered on the second floor, and blinked at Dream.

The man's face was blurry but noticeably tight. His lips were a thin smudge, jawline stark against the block of colour that was his hoodie. His eyes, blobs of dark green hue, stared at Eret, unblinking. Angry; he was angry. Dream was angry and Eret was using him as a crutch.

They let out a shaking breath that took more air than it should've, feeling their hands begin to shake in their panic. "M'sorry," they blurted, tongue thick and heavy in their mouth. Soot stood before them, frowning down at them and their entire body went numb.

"Eret!"

They flinched, barely able to open their eyes. Their lungs were too small, chest barely touched by a blade's point that had pierced Jameskii's instead. Hands were on them, hoisting them up, Dream's sword callused ones joined by Sapnap's burn-riddled ones.

_"C'mon, buddy,"_ murmured Elaina, her soft caressing tones a lullaby to their tortured ears. _"We need to keep moving."_

_But what if I don't want to keep moving?_ They asked no one.

Pressurized water droplets rained down on them, warmer than the blistering heat of Dream and Sapnap's prior guiding hands. There was a ruffle before their arms were being lifted by callused hands, body eased into the supportive corner of the mildly warm tiled wall as their coat was tugged at.

Eret's eyes flicked open to find Dream pulling soaked clothes off them, the man standing just out of the shower's spray as he eased their sticky shirt off them. The glass doors around them glistened in the flickering lamplight, doing something unholy for their eyes. In the gloom, Eret let themself drift, thoughts slowing to a snail's pace within the sudden realisation of assured safety.

A sharp intake of air roused them. Head heavy, mind slow, they leaned against the shower cubicle's wall and let their soulless gaze track Dream. The unmasked man looked surprised, eyes wide, face slack, head tilted down, unblinking. He was staring at their chest.

"Whuh-?" They managed, looking down to their normal patchwork of scars, red and rugged along every muscle. Against the crease of their ribs and the hollow of their stomach trailed countless pink lines, left over from inch deep gashes and stabbings alike. Their back, arguably, was far worse. If Dream looked so pale at the sight of their front, evidently he was not well versed in the precariousness of death.

But then, not every child became a pawn in an indomitable tussle for rights over nothingness.

"You-" the man began, sentence fizzling out before it could truly begin. "Nevermind. Sorry."

_Why are you apologising,_ they wanted to laugh. _This isn't your fault._

A shiver wracked them, throat caught on a hiccup. On the edge of doubling over to cough up more bile than they had before, Eret sucked in a hollow breath.

"I'll use some soap real quick," Dream declared, movements suddenly emphasised. The way he bent to reach for the squirty bottle could've been comic had he not been so careful of invading Eret's space that it was almost painful. Those green eyes watched everything, no longer lingering warily on the reminder of their past. "Then we can get you to bed."

"M'kay," they sighed, sinking into the aroma of red apples and pomegranate. If they put enough force and energy into their inner eye, they could almost see Elaina smiling at them as they both bathed by a stream, the memory nearly a decade old.

Eret's chest ached and it wasn't because of the sickness.


	11. hear those bells chime deep below the soil

Wheat, long and golden, blew around them, the paths cut into the field leading through the heart of the crops. Eret followed the whitle of bones creaking and shifted Ted's Wrath in their hand so the blade was forward fronting.

The soil underfoot crunched, dry from drought that had miraculously left the wheat and grain untouched. Leaves rustled from the dying trees that surrounded the fields, the moan of leather crunching down on the jagged edges of bonemeal the only sound caused by their activity.

Drought was good, for people like them. People like Eret; men and woman and ones in between who pulled on their boots in the morning, tossed soil over the ash of their campfire and drew their blades at the first hint of trouble. After the scrimmages had been ended, many of the older children had left, departing for work within the Emperor's lands or to roam as bounty hunters.

Bounty hunters scrambled over the map, visiting towns and backwards villages and ridding the people of the mobs they were unable to scare off with towering scarecrows or rusted pitchforks. Things like zombies, creepers and skeletons. Maybe even Illagers, sometimes. Though, those ones were far more dangerous than a handful of pittance-paying mobs.

Today, Eret was on the hunt for a enchanted bow wielding skeleton. In the drought, the bodies under the soil were depraved of more nutrients than normal and a special bacteria infected the maggot-cleaned bones. In droughts, with the lack of water, came bleached skeletons; in famines, there came the ragged, hollow cheeked, thick skinned zombies who groaned for flesh to wet their decaying tongues.

Ordinary people didn't have the guts to literally re-gut a dead man, nor did they have the skill to dodge a peeved skeleton's bone arrow. Sometimes the reflexes of the infected surprised Eret, though they'd been at this for three years now and the only time they'd been caught off guard was when they'd dug a man out of a rockslide and had been cursed by an enraged witch.

For now, the air was unmoved. It was calm. Eret even had the gall to hope the farmer they were doing the contract for would pay them the full six coins in return for the bones. They'd keep the bow, provided it was in good enough nick. An enchanted bow would save them some time when hunting.

A rustle from their left seemed to echo around the entire field. With Ted's Wrath by their side, vibrating for violence, they stalked forth, crunching around on the path as they took the dried out western turn.

What greeted them was no skeleton. A large, spindly thing, with deadbeat black eyes the size of tulips and long, boney arms akin to a ram's horns with how they curled, stood in the middle of the path. Its head was small and rotund, carrying no other features than its beady little eyes. Eret blanched, staring it down as they ceased movement, fascinated as the dark purple creature with pulsating skin opened its mouth to reveal lines of sharp jagged teeth and rolled its tongue out of its gaping maw. The sharp tipped, brown appendage wriggled between them both for a moment, nearly as long as Eret's arm from elbow to wrist as it stretched out enticingly over the few foots distance they stood at.

The sound it let out was the click of a skeleton walking. But this was no skeleton.

It had moved before Eret even registered the hot breath against their cheeks. Their stomach somersaulted as the thing bent down to stand with its face inches from theirs, long tongue encircling its head in a crude imitation of an angel's halo. It smelt like the leaves of autumn and the copper of blood at all once.

The things hand twitched, the former soldier only now noticing the long black claws in place of fingers. They remained perfectly still as the thing brought its own hand up, millimetres from their face, to seemingly marvel at their own appendage.

Eret had never heard nor seen something- _anything_ like the creature that stood in front them now. And they had seen a lot of things. A hybrid gone wrong, perhaps? News of hybrids was big, with the exact forms of the illogical births not being known. It wouldn't be cause for immense surprise that a gluttonous researcher had went too far, breaking a few too many laws with their lust for experimentation and come out with something they didn't want to deal with.

They smiled at it, soft for fellow monsters, and suddenly found themself on their knees.

Blood poured from Eret's mouth, their chest numb as they forced their gaze down to the clawed hand pierced through their stomach. The creature clicked like a skeleton, the enchantment-lookalike skin glowing against the backdrop of a blazing sky. Eret smelt the thick heed of smoke. Around them, the field flushed red, thick gooey blood taking place of the dry soil as speared-through corpses stood tall on pikes, skin pecked holey by the crows, flesh stripped to the tendons by the rotflies.

As the hand in their torso was tugged free, strings of blood followed the limb, their intestines in tow. Eret found their voice past their fear-hoarse throat and the blood in their mouth and screamed.

Fabric rustled around them as they shot upright, muscles burning as they panted, throat drier than the sand dunes of the southern regions. It took a few long blinks before colours organised around them, painting the second floor of the Community House in darker shades than most seen. Whilst focussing on the repercussions of the witch's backfiring blindness spell, they almost didn't notice the eyes staring at them.

Head lilting to the side in the threating pose Jameskii had always quailed at, they blinked right back at the eyes. The purple shape of Punz materialised, the man laying awkwardly on his bed as he seemed to internally debate the benefits of ignoring them in favour of his magazine. The smell of smoke drifted towards them, burnt bacon a distinct scent amongst the warmth of the house.

Eret took in how their chest heaved, how their throat closed over at the thought of greeting Punz and the glisten of their own sweat beaded along their skin. The sleepshirt they wore was more of a poloshirt, the collar soft against their sensitive neck, the cotton a cradle to their aching ribs.

"Who's dead?" Sapnap burst into the room, two plates of bacon, eggs and sausages in his hands. His actions held a hint of urgency, even if his voice did not. "Or dying?"

His eyes flicked over to them, something unnaturally soft in their brown depths before the pyromaniac turned to laugh at Punz' frozen face of stupor.

"We alright, man? I didn't know Eret could murder with their vocal cords alone." Those eager eyes turned back to them. Their fingers twitched, shoulders tensing as they tugged the soft blankets towards themself. If they weren't careful the others might take them away. That wouldn't be nice but at the same time there wasn't much they could do in their current state to stop something like that from happening. "You gotta teach me. Could do that Persephone thing on the L'Manbergians - would scare the shit out of them. Y'reckon I could do it with fire instead? Fire's _waaay_ better than stone."

"Stop annoying them, Sap," Dream said, bursting down the stairs as if a demon was on his trail. The man's gaze was worried as it landed on Eret, the warmth behind such an action almost leaving them breathless. "You okay, Eret?"

Being at the centerpoint of three separate gazes, Eret panicked and flopped back onto their back. No one said anything for a moment and Eret took that chance to pull the blankets up over their head to hide their shame.

"Breakfast, Punz darlin'?" Sapnap continued on as if nothing had happened, the creak of floorboards signifying his path to the purple and grey haired man's bed. There was a low breath as Punz threw his magazine onto the floor with a slap, with Eret pretending they didn't flinch at the sharp sound, before conversation sparked between the two. The whisper of a door opening signalled Dream having left for the kitchen.

"You see the newscast?" Punz muttered a few moments later. Eret breathed deep breaths and tried to roll their shoulders out as innocuously as possible so to not draw any more unwanted attention towards themself. "That's three kingdoms off the map now."

"Just their kings," Dream said suddenly, apparently back in the room. That or he'd never left in the first place. Eret bit their tongue to painfully swallow a wince past their throat. "It's looking like a takeover, small-scale coups on all accounts. The militaries are taking over and they'll probably have new leaders elected within the month. The wave won't get any further than the mainland, definitely not past the Blade servers."

"Thank fuck we don't have a military to boot us out, eh?" Sapnap cackled, cutting himself off to noisily chew on something. From the way whatever he ate crunched hideously, it was the bacon. Char grilled, perhaps. 

"Got some water for you, Eret," Dream murmured, far too close to not notice how they shivered. His tone was too soft for him to truly know who he was talking to, light and weighted by emotion that was directed to children. Not monsters.

Eret wondered if the SMPers even knew who they were.

"If you want it, that is. I'll set it on your nightstand."

The shuffle of socked feet washed up beside them, inches from their emergency blanket shield. Suddenly, Eret became hugely aware of what a massive mistake they'd made: anyone could stab them now with their back turned to the room. Their hairs prickled, their fingers twitched and their head spun as the darkness of the red blanket swam as if a wave curving with the blood of the innocent. Almost the same as the river that had separated Diadom and Squatra, if the river would've tossed and squirmed with waves akin to a sea's.

A low _chink_ rocked through their brain as Dream set the glass down on the wooden table. The sound pulled them from their haze and they waited for a few moments for Dream to walk away before cautiously edging out from under their blanket. The world spun around them still, although not as bad as it had when they'd walked through the rain, and they found themself propped up against the bedside table as they nursed the proffered glass of crystalline clear water and cradled the blanket to their chest, legs clenched tightly down on the folds of the cotton trapped between their knees in an effort to ensure it remained with them.

Their sunglasses peered up at them as they wrapped stiff fingers around their glass but Eret was in no state to risk a hand to put them on. Plus, everyone had seen their horrible eyes anyways. Where was the point in hiding if everyone knew what a monster they were?

Had Dream's earlier tone been condescending? Was that his version of a joke? The man probably thought he was funny.

The water, on the other hand, pertained a certain risk factor that they would risk their glasses for. Cool, pure and tasteless; it was heaven on their tongue and mercy for their throat.

"Bit surprised at how many kingdoms have fallen to their militaries," Dream said, having settled on Punz' bed with the other two. "I would've thought Hermitcraft could've fended for themselves."

"Evidently not," Punz shrugged. "I just think its odd at how many have toppled within the period of a week."

"What're we talking about?" George called, Eret nearly having completely missed the man coming up the stairs. He'd been out shopping, if the loaded bags in his hands meant anything. The glasses wearing man looked to them, a bright smile nearly splitting his cheeks in two. "Heya, Eret! Good to see you awake. You up for some soup? I had to go out and buy some in case Sappynappy ate all the bacon."

Unsure how those two foods were related as to one running out and requiring the other, Eret shook their head at George's offer and had to blink hard to get the black spots out of their vision. Exhaustion hit them like one of those freighter trains that took cargo to the main server and they struggled to ensure their glass made it safely back to the table before flopping over to curl up in their bed. The black spots persisted as their eyes fluttered, round orbs morphing to the outstretched fangs of human-sized spiders on the ceiling, reaching down for them as they dangled from their silken webs.

They opened their eyes back up again to the white of midnight casting the house in a relieved glow. The accompanying soothing orange lamplight was soft on their eyes; a nice sight to wake to.

"What will we do about L'manberg?" Came a whisper from the bed across. From the different breathing patterns, the entire team was in the room with them, in their own beds.

"We'll stick to what we said earlier: if they come looking, we kidnapped Eret. If they don't, Eret found a dungeon and took a few days to clear it out." Dream murmured, the closeness of his voice indicating he was in the bed beside theirs.

"That's assuming they can stand tomorrow," Punz said, none of his usual spite in his tone.

"Assuming they actually keep some food down," Sapnap added. There was a huffy sound, definitely from George.

"I didn't know they'd throw it back up," the man hissed back.

"We warned you," Dream hummed. "But you went and woke them up anyway."

"Practically forced the soup down their throat," Sapnap made a forlorn noise. "I'm pretty sure they weren't even really awake."

"They glared at me, of course they were awake!" George squawked, a little louder than Eret's ears would've perhaps liked. Unable to silence their whimper, they curled deeper into themself, blanket pulled high around their shoulders, back to the rest of the room. The four men went deathly quiet for a few minutes.

"Bit loud there, Gogy," Sapnap muttered after a bit.

"Shut the fuck up, I didn't mean to go that high."

"Yeah, right," Sapnap whispered, tone taking on a higher pitched imitation that was still quiet but obviously a jab at George. "Oh, look at me, I'm George and I squeak loudly."

Dream wheezed as the ruffle of a thrown pillow smacked against skin. Sapnap made a wounded noise before presumably throwing the pillow right back at George. The lack of a returning skin-hit indicated he'd missed.

"C'mon, how is your aim _that_ bad?" Punz chuckled quietly. There was a flurry of shuffling as two pillows made contact with him, a muffled yelp slipping out as he was inevitably hit.

Eret let their eyes drift shut, back prickling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:  
> 1\. What Eret seen (the bit before they woke) was a nightmare/ fever dream. It's actually analogy of how they feel like everyone they trust eventually does something to hurt them. (Eg, they loved Jameskii, Elaina and Scot but they died and left Eret alone.)
> 
> 2\. The witch curse, although having not blinded them, made their vision sensitivity change. What is light red to us would be dark red to Eret. This isn't a key point that will change much but I figured I should clarify with how much I've been mentioning it. 
> 
> 3\. Any characters or prompts you guys wanna see within the story? I'd be more than happy to accommodate.


	12. my high hopes are getting low

He sat at the bar, silent. Sapnap fiddled with the cut of ribbon on his shorts, attention switching between his glass on the bartop and the worries in his head.

Dream stepped down the stairs, strolling up to the bar where he grabbed a water bottle for himself. He stared into Sapnap's soul, waiting for a report.

This morning, Sapnap had went out on a reconnaissance mission. One to check up on L'Manberg. Dream had told him to snoop around, George had said to be careful. Punz had claimed a right to his magazines if he broke something.

Sapnap had laughed, smiling the whole way to the little encampment. Upon his arrival he'd found a half-walled menace with sleeping citizens and a leader lounging on a chair in the sunlight. He'd had a clear shot, one he could've taken with the bow he'd grabbed from storage.

He would've taken it too, had the brown haired kid - Tubbo - not bounced up to the guy and started chattering. Sapnap may hate Soot's guts but he wasn't about to terrify a teenager by killing his leader in front of him. He wasn't that cruel.

No shit, he'd been sent to see if the losers had realised Eret was missing. Sapnap had settled down in a half built crow's nest on the wall with a gap just large enough for him to see out of and had listened to the voices echoing up.

An hour he'd crouched there, listening to the people murmur and mutter about fish and wheat and water. L'Manberg was starving, dying of dehydration and measles but not once was there a mention of the man who built their walls. Not even the blond kid or the furry said anything when they climbed out of their camper shack.

Something about that tickled him the wrong way.

Now he sat in the Community House, rocking about on his barstool to chance it falling over with Eret still bedridden upstairs, temperature high enough to cook eggs.

"Assholes don't even notice," he snapped out amidst the sizzling of Dream's coffee machine. The green eyed man tapped a melody on the counter, shoulders relaxed as he listened, staring out the window above the minifridge. "I sat on their wall for an hour and they didn't say anything 'bout Eret _once_."

"Think we should send a message by courier?" Punz asked, popping into the barstool beside Sapnap. "It could keep them off our tail for a while. Just becasue they didn't mention it in an hour doesn't mean they aren't wondering."

Dream hummed. "Does anyone know how Eret writes? We can't chance something if one of the L'Manbergians has seen their script before."

Sapnap shrugged, never having seen Eret do more with a pen than roughly trace out the outlines for the walls on their map that one meeting. That had been funny to learn, that L'Manberg wanted walls, when only high tier cities such as the Capitol and castles ever had walls. George had said it was a testament to how great they thought they were.

_Can't wait to see them fall,_ he thought, giddy at the very inclination.

"I've never seen them write," Punz frowned. "And I don't think they'd be able to, now, seeing as they can barely sit up."

Dream made an annoyed noise, clearly fussing over the discrepancy between them not knowing and L'Manberg possibly knowing. He nearly hip-checked the counter as he turned to grab his coffee off it, turning back into the group as he blew away the rising steam. His lips were thin, chapped by a night of watching over Eret and worrying over them.

"Guys?" George appeared on the stairs, clearly worried with his frown and twisting hands. "I think we should call over Bad."

"Have they woken up?" Dream asked, head lifting.

"No," George shook his head, gesturing for them all to follow him as he turned and climbed back up the stairs. "That's the thing. They're still out and their temperature just keeps rising."

Sapnap blinked as everyone scuttled upstairs, Dream abandoning his coffee. Taking a final sip of his water, he jumped off his stool and took the stairs two at a time.

Everyone was huddled around Eret, who was panting shallowly in bed, a wet washcloth over their forehead. Their cheeks were flushed rosy, eyes flickering behind closed lids. The shirt they'd fished out of the closet was ruffled high on their chest, showing off the crisscrossing scars on their stomach, with the blankets kicked down to just about cover their hips.

Dream didn't touch, instead hovering his hand just over their chest. Eret's brow twitched, mouth twisting into a frown as their fingers clenched by their side.

"They're way too hot," the man agreed. "Who wants to ride out to the border of the Alterian swamp to get BadBoyHalo?"

BadBoyHalo had seen a lot in his long life, having been granted much longer a lifespan than the average human thanks to his demonic mother. Around six lifetimes longer than the average person's three.

After the respawn codes had been introduced, giving every man and woman a span of around three hundred years (if they played the system right), BadBoyHalo had discovered that the overseers hadn't accounted for hybrids. Thus, being one such himself, his lifespan had only been added to. Especially since, being a demon, he had no special code named a _life thread_ and could not be forcefully killed by a hacker. (Though there were very few capable of such hacking and so most life threads being cut were at the wish of the people themselves and a few specially mixed potions of will.)

Being a hybrid had won him his fair share of battles, lost him far more. He'd lost friends and family to being part demon. There was a reason why he lived out in a shack in the western-most swamp. Sitting out on three country's borders, the rulers didn't really know who owned the land. Too afraid to start any wars, they left Bad alone.

It was a solitary existence. Yet, it was calming. BadBoyHalo had never needed much, just his plants and his mortar and pestle. He could create much more out here than in the heart of a city.

Today he was working on a little remedy for a wilting plant. The red syrup would help reinforce the shoot of a pretty little purple flower he'd found out on one of his bush walks, the little sprout having been shrouded by the larger sweeping vines and weeds. If the potion worked, he'd be able to add another pot to his window sill.

Already on the sill sat three cacti, a multi-coloured daffodil and a blue sunflower that much liked eating bugs, rather than the nutrients from the soil. Watching the seeded flower split apart through the middle to reveal jagged thorns was quite the sight the first time and would continue to be.

He didn't really know why it did that, or how, but that was why it sat on his window sill. To observe and analyse.

Mumbling a little ditty that was far too old for most humans to know, he mixed a little sugar into his syrup and pushed the bowl over his tripod-stooped candle. The black lather bubbled as he eased a skinned stick of wood into it, the size of a chopstick, and stirred. After a moment, it turned a rippling red. He blew out the candle, leaving the mixture to cool as he tapped the residue off the stick.

A knock on his door brought forth his attention. Turning, he slipped out of his lab room and opened the closet under his staurs. The sheathed sabre eased into his belt and vibrated there for a long moment. The presence of life shone past his door, two humans. Not enough to take him down but enough to send a message.

Bad wasn't expecting anyone. The SMP just south sent a man every second month for healing potions and whatnot whilst Mega came round every ninth week, signing for potions of all sorts.

Anxiety sprouted, burning deep in his chest as he crossed the hallway. His hand rested on the wooden handle for the front door, and he opened it smiling.

"Hello," he greeted, blinking at the harried, tense faces of Sapnap and a man with purple highlights. They were from the SMP. His smile became a little more genuine, confident in the knowledge that Dream would've come as well if they were plotting his demise. "What can I do for you both this sunny day?"

Something gripped their shoulder. Nerves on fire, Eret twisted in bed, snapping out to grab the offender. A shocked squeak sounded, cut off quickly as Eret tugged, pulling the thing back.

This time it screamed.

_"There comes a time where everything dies. Legend or not."_ Used to be Scot's favourite storyline.

"Hey, hey," came a voice. "It's okay, Eret, you can let him go. You're safe here."

They squeezed harder, feeling bones grind under their hand. The offender let out a pained wheeze, voice lost to the still air. Eret flicked their eyes open to see George's pinched face, his lip wobbling precariously as he dithered between reaching for his elbow or their wrist.

He looked at them, tears welling up. Reflecting the insidious light of their own eyes was his glasses, perched innocuously on his head. Eret stared at themself, meeting emotionless white eyes. They watched, on an autopilot of sorts, as those eyes widened, blinking in a flurry of stricken horror.

Hands falling numb, Eret let go of George's hand, allowing the man to nurse his reddening fingers. They sat, frozen as a man with rugged skin the colour of soot and white eyes with a flickering red pupil approached George, saying something that had inch long fangs popping out from under his lips.

A distant voice berated them for not breaking the entire hand. _Getting sloppy,_ it taunted, cackling.

Suddenly dizzy now that they were faced with a hot flush, Eret wilted back against their pillows, unsure of when they'd first sat up.

"Eret, right?" A voice chirped.

Just like that, their haze was broken. Eret looked at the man, noting the small pointed horns poking out from his forehead. A demon hybrid; likely powerless aside from a few boosting spells. Useful on the battlefield, especially if one would let their stamina reserves be attended to. There was no doubt this man and one other could wipe out a nation if they so wished.

Eret wondered where a demon hybrid so obvious could live in peace. Maybe they'd move there when they wanted a break from this game and their visions of blood.

_That would be nice,_ they thought and blinked at the moving shape of the hybrid's mouth.

His hand, fingers curving into gentle claws, rose from his side and slowly moved to touch their chest. Eret twitched, throat producing a low warning sound that was mainly instinctual. The demon hybrid brought up his other hand and tapped it against his cheek.

A symbol of peace.

They stopped the low hiss, throat flexing around their vocal cords as they returned to staring at the wood above them. The wooden timbre over their head sat proudly, brown against the greyish white of the painted wood planks that made the up third floor's flooring and the second floor's ceiling. Calmed by the signal, they felt their eyelids droop.

"Let's not go to sleep, just yet, 'kay?" Hummed the voice. The hybrid spoke with a lilting high pitch. Demons tended to imprint off their parents' voices, although only their demonic ones. Guy's mother was probably the only dark blood in his family.

Chilled to the bone despite the blankets over them, Eret watched the hybrid pull potion bottles out of a satchel on his hip, lining them all up on Dream's bedside table, which was closer to Eret's bed than it was to Dreams'.

They recognised all of the four bottles, noting each glowing colour. Surprise was a distant emotion, something they wondered at as they watched the demon pour two of the potions into a glass offered by Punz.

Eret hadn't thought they were _that_ sick. Not enough to warrant a healing potion mixed with an energy regen. Although, now that they thought about it, they did feel a little more off-kilter than normal.

"You wanna sit up to drink this?" The guy proposed, giving them a clear view of the green shimmering liquid. Having watched the demon pour the potions into a clean glass, and having seen how the glass didn't shatter, Eret took the liberty to assume it wouldn't burn their insides.

At least, they hoped. Surely the SMPers wouldn't advocate their death? Not whilst standing around, watching. It didn't escape their notice how Punz and Dream had turned to lingering around the sharpshooter's bed, obvious in their lurking while Sapnap and George had disappeared off to do their own things.

Hit with an energy spurt, they worked up the will to get their arms working and used their strength to prop themself up on their elbow. Leaning towards the demon hybrid, Eret watched him swirl the potion in the glass one final time before accepting it in shaking hands.

The demon wavered, a finger of his propping the glass up in their quivering hand by the base. It took them a moment to force their fingers to stop moving, and when they did it took a moment longer to find a grip on the smooth glass.

"That's it," the demon approved when they finally gripped it. He helped them lift the glass to their mouth, smiling proudly when they took a small sip.

Colour exploded behind their eyes. Eret pushed the glass back to the demon and reflexively swallowed before vomitting into the bucket on the floor. The demon squeaked, glass set on the bedside table in a flash before they were pulling their hair out of their face, off their sweaty back.

"Oh dear," he said when they'd stopped, gasping instead for air. "I'm sorry, I didn't think to ask. I should've known the health potion would be too strong. Diadom's soldiers only ever had access to level two ones, right? That's a level six. Of course you'd react badly, I'm so sorry."

He sounded so remorseful that it almost drowned out how he'd discovered who they were in an instant. Eret knew they had the Diadomian Soldier mark branded onto the skin between their shoulderblades but the very fact that this man had recognised it almost instantly indicated he knew more than he let on.

The only people who knew the special branding of the scrimmage's child soldiers were the children themselves, the officers who'd forced them to fight (most of whom were dead now, their life threads cut) and a select few of Skeppy and Squid Kid's inner circles.

The demon wasn't an officer. They would've recognised him. That meant-

They slapped the demon's hand away, letting their hair fall into their eyes as they swiped at their mouth. Eret rocked back from him, fingers twitching for Ted's Wrath. The blankets were a leaden weight around their waist but that did nothing to stop them from kicking them back.

"Who the hell are you?" They snarled, the low reverberating sound of their warning starting up again in their chest. Ready to pounce at the first wrong move, they calculated how long it would take for them to grab their sword, located two feet to their right, and lunge at the hybrid.

It would take five seconds too long.

"Language," the man tutted, almost as if on habit with how his eyes immediately widened afterwards. "Sorry! Ah, I'm BadBoyHalo. I'm a potion maker."

"Do you want him to leave, Eret?" Dream offered, stepping forth. BadBoyHalo was frowning heavily, looking confused as he squirmed between Eret's sneer and Dream's glower.

"Did I say something wrong? Is it the medicine? The potion can be fixed." Said the demon, visibly nervous as he fretted, words a flurry. "I'm sorry!"

"S'not what I asked," Eret growled, swinging their legs over the side of the bed. The shorts they'd been pulled into shook around their thighs as they forced themself to their feet. Ted's Wrath was so close.

"Please don't stand," Bad winced. "If you vomitted you might-"

Their legs buckled, pulling them to the floor with a loud thump. Eret burned with shame, catching Sapnap and George flitting into the room only to freeze by the door. Ted's Wrath toppled into their lap, disturbed by the vibrations of their fall.

"Eret," Dream whispered. Their back prickled. The mark throbbed. "How about we get you a glass of water, yeah?"

Sapnap rocked out of the room, following Dream's soft nod. George stood immobile, evidently unsure of what to do, his bandaged hand hanging limply. Punz was stood to the left of BadBoyHalo, menacingly staring at the demon.

Eret panted, chest tight, vision tumbling. Someone stepped closer to them and their hand shot to Ted's handle, unsheathing the beauty with a soft snick. The figure froze.

"Eret," they murmured.

Red eyes stared at them from beyond the grave, Elaina standing in the hollow of the door, Jameskii flopped over an unused bed, Scot standing in front of them.

They gasped in a breath, holding it as they closed their eyes to the blinding light of hellfire. Lungs screaming, heart pounding, they slowly opened their mouth and sucked in a breath. It wasn't enough. Shaking, they breathed out, lungs feeling empty but doing so anyway.

_Need to calm down,_ they knew. _Don't be a liability._

_"Lie down, Erie,"_ called Elaina.

Shadows shifted on their peripheral. Eret twisted Ted's Wrath, brandishing it out in front of them, forcing the person approaching them to still.

"Don't think they want the water, Dream." Said the swathe of colour. There was a flame emblem on their shirt, the dark hues of a bandana around their head. He chuckled awkwardly, Eret tilting their head to the side but forward enough so that no one would be able to slash their throat whilst they watched the figure shift.

"Can they hear us?" Came a meek voice.

"I'm not deaf," they scowled, unsure of where exactly they were. The floor came into focus, a rumpled bed to their left, Ted's Wrath a reassuring weight in their hand, its sheathe a calming heft on their lap. Elaina and Scot and Jameskii were gone and they didn't know why. Their chest felt empty and cold.

"Eret?"

Their eyes snapped into focus as they lifted their head, conscious of how they'd been staring at the floor. They blinked at the worried faces of the SMPers and the demon hybrid.

_What happened?_ They wanted to ask. A part of them knew not to, though, nagging that to say that wouldn't be good.

_Don't be a liability,_ warned the voice in their head.

_If you're a liability you get killed,_ they agreed. A battlefield flashed before their eyes, children court marshalled for not charging the front lines, corpses lined up in rows, part of the soil and the dirt and the mud.

Ted's Wrath was unsheathed. Were they in danger?

They gripped its handle, swinging the blade around to sheathe it. The group in front of them were silent as it snicked into place with a glorious hum. Their left hand flexed around the handle still, their right wondering where their axe had went.

_Some things end up broken._

"Why don't I remake that potion?" BadBoyHalo asked nervously.

Eret blinked at him, gaze flicking across the gathered people. They grunted, neither caring nor wanting, and used the sheath to aid them in standing. Sapnap stood limply with a glass of water in his hand, which they accepted with a small nod.

"Sorry about your hand, George," they finally said. The man himself blustered, smiling awkwardly.

"It'll heal," he responded, shrugging.

Sighing, head pounding, they eased down into the bed, Ted's Wrath set against the headboard within easy reach. Shaking together a few liquids to their left, BadBoyHalo said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/ everything, tbh


	13. we have time to tell

The sun glinted down on him, sparkling in through the wall's thin glass panes. If there was any one reason Punz had to give for liking the Community House more than his flat, his first thought would have to be the fact that he could fire an arrow at a target on the wall and not have to worry about piercing through the neighbour's shower. The close second, of course, was the fact that there was a legitimate archery range up on the top floor, behind the whispering nether portal and the emergency storage chests.

It was actually pretty nice: the archery range. It was wide and spacious, with three targets of different sizes cut out of some special material that didn't dull the arrows when they struck but still allowed them to sit in it. Heavenly, really - at least, for Punz it was.

Having a space set out uniquely for the firing of arrows, with a sword range accompanied by dummies on the other side of the room, was great. And he could go up there at any time of day, so long as he didn't make too much noise in the morning, when the others slept.

Punz breathed out, his breath rippling the fletching of his arrow. He'd picked a simple bow and arrow today, instead of a crossbow, because where was the fun in standing there with a loaded bolt when he could strain his muscles and get in a bit of exercise. Arrow notched and pulled back, waiting for release, he took a guilty pleasure in holding his aim.

He breathed in. He breathed out. He fired.

The arrow pierced the outline of the person's head, spearing through the would-be brain. Satisfied, he grabbed another arrow from his shoulder pack and notched it, firing on his breath out.

He hit the centre throat.

He notched again, quicker this time, and released. The purple fletched arrow jabbed through the middle chest, where the heart would be sitting.

Faster, he grabbed another arrow, slipping it into place and pulling back, with his left hand against his cheek. He let go, the string snapping forth, skimming the end of the arm strap guard he wore. The arrow pierced the outline's groin.

Again, he fired. Left kneecap. Again. Right kneecap.

Punz grinned at the pincushion he'd made and notched another arrow, aiming for just right of his first skull-hitter. He got the right eye socket, an inch further from where he wanted.

"Nice," said George from the doorway separating the portal and the training room. Punz un-knocked his arrow and offered a grin to the other man. His busted hand hung by his side.

"I'd invite you over but you're on special privileges."

"Oh, please," he scoffed, adjusting his glasses with his finger. "After Eret fell asleep Dream smothered me enough to do me for thirty years. He even made me a glass of water - like I can't turn on the tap and shove a glass under it myself!"

Smirking, Punz shrugged. "That's just how he shows he cares. I'd enjoy the drinks, if I were you. Might convince him to make you a cocktail."

"I hate cocktails," George sniffed, wrinkling his nose. He pushed off the doorframe and walked into the room, patting down an old chair on the sidelines. "If I sit here and watch you won't kill me, will you?"

"I'll try not to," he hummed. "But no promises."

George snorted, plopping down on the chair with a sigh. A moment passed where Punz slung his bow over his shoulder and walked up to the firm block to pull out his arrows. "What happened with Eret? Earlier?"

Fingers twisted around an arrow, Punz hesitated. "Don't really know," he admitted, yanking the head out with a tad more force than necessary. "BadBoyHalo said something to them, gave them some potion that was too strong and they were sick. Freaked out after that."

"So it was the potion?" George asked. "When me and Sap walked in, they were on the floor."

"Yeah." Thinking back on their crazed snarl as they held their sword to Sapnap's throat made him shiver. "They started threatening Bad. Don't think they like him too much."

"Must be his eyes," Gogy joked. Punz smirked along.

That would be ironic, for Eret to dislike Bad because of his eyes when Eret's were ten times worse. The first time Punz had seen Eret without their glasses, they'd burst up from sleeping peacefully, suddenly frantic, screaming, and had _looked through_ him. Those emotionless, dead eyes had stared past Punz, beyond his skin and bones confine and had bored into his soul.

The fucking smug head tilt hadn't made things better. To say the least, if Punz would've met Eret in a dark alley at night, he would've shit his pants.

Because the Eret who grinned with their glasses on and the Eret who grinned with glowing luminescent white eyes were very different people. Though, Punz feared both because he was blessed with the gift of self-preservation.

He returned to the taped cross he'd stood over the first time around and notched his first arrow, aiming for the left eye socket.

_Deep breath, in, out._ He let go. It pierced the left eye.

"Punz?"

"Hmm?"

Second arrow notched; pulled back; aimed for right eye socket; fired. Target hit.

George said, "I asked who the Diadomian soliders were."

"I dunno. Soldiers?" Punz notched his third arrow, pointing at the stomach - a pain dealer. "Thought you said you didn't know what happened?"

"Well," began George, outraged just the slightest. "I'm not as deaf as you seem to think I am. Plus, Bad was really loud."

"He said Eret was one," Punz noted. "A child solider."

His gut twisted at the thought. Children fighting? Sure, they had play scrapes and fights. But as real soldiers? People who wielded swords and downed potions to stay on their game, fighting for their king and country. That just didn't sit right with him.

A battlefield was no place for children. Everyone knew that, right?

"Maybe that's why they're so twitchy," George said finally. "Why they broke my fingers. If they're used to all touch meaning pain then of course they'd lash out."

"Diadom." He said aloud, muttering his thought process. "Isn't that the wasteland area nowadays?"

George gasped as if struck by an epiphany. "That one that had the scrimmage with... with..."

Sapnap strolled in, swinging his chained flint and steel around on his finger. "Squatra."

"Heh?" George looked to him.

Punz notched another arrow, fingers asking him when to release.

"The kingdom that fought with Diadom was Squatra." Sapnap clarified. "My da was a history buff so he knew all 'bout this. They fought over trade routes and eventually pulled kiddie soldiers into it, ones no older than twelve. When the Emperor found out he challenged them to some mission and when they failed, he killed them and knocked the kings from power."

The only sound in the room was the _fwosh_ of the string being released and the _pwsh_ of the arrow jabbing into the foam-stuff. George made a huffed sound.

"So what happened the soldiers after the Blade took over the land?"

"Most had already left by the time Technoblade gained control, cause the scrimmages were over for months by the time Skeppy and Squid Kid were executed and exiled."

"Only killed once and exiled?" Punz asked. "Why weren't their life threads cut?"

"They claimed they didn't know about the kid soldiers, which _I call_ _bullshit,_ but there was the fact that their respective generals had complete control over the armies." Sapnap explained.

"And the generals?" George prodded, legs swinging back and forth in a distraction for Punz' aiming. "What about them?"

"Murdered."

In a world where murders were literally impossible due to others being unable to cut others' life threads, George and Punz burst out laughing.

"Hey! Hey! It's true," Sapnap defended, squawking in indignation. "They cut their own strings, course. But there were rumours that they'd been forced into it."

"Well if I was a wife to some crook general I'd pressure him too," Punz reasoned.

"Not even the wives though," Sapnap said conspirationally, obviously enjoying his storytelling a bit too much with his excited tone. "My dad used to rave about how it was the ghosts of the kids comin' back an' killing them."

"Yeah right," George scoffed, snickering. "What else did he say? That they were mind controlled?"

"How'd you know?" Sap gasped.

Punz laughed so hard his throat hurt and he missed his shot. George was strewn over the chair's arms like a ragdoll, voice barking as he laughed.

"It's - I'm telling the truth!" Sapnap argued, shouting over the din. He gave them a moment to calm down, seeming to contemplate as he put a hand on his hip. The flint and steel was long stashed back in his pocket. "Although, there was talk of it having been hybrids."

"Hybrids? What've they got to do with this?" Punz questioned, sick of hearing human supremacists natter on about segregation and 'necessary' laws on how to control and cull a majority of the population. Most of whom hid out of sheer need to hide or be killed or attacked.

"No, no," Sapnap waved his hands about, shaking his head. "People said that because the armies were made up of a ton of hybrids. Apparently."

"Who cares," George said. "We've figured out that Eret's a child soldier - what do we do now?"

"Be nice?" Sapnap suggested. "I don't know, they haven't mentioned it before so they probably didn't want us knowing."

"They don't seem to like pity," Punz agreed, bow forgotten about as he bent over to retrieve his waylaid arrow. There was a notch in the wall now, a gleaming scratch in the brickwork. He brushed over it before deciding to ignore its existence.

"So we just be nice? Like say _'good morning'_ and _'please'_?"

Sap had run out of ideas and dropped onto George's chair, shoving him over to make space. "Maybe?"

"What do you mean _'maybe'?_ " George whined.

Punz was silent, mulling over what it would be like to have been forced to fight, life or death. No wonder Eret was so _different._


	14. monsters to quell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for taking so long to post and all.... i kinda forgot abt this once school kicked in and my muse has abandoned me in favour of history and english essays.
> 
> i feel these chapters are really short but this is the new shitty standard of my work. :)

The pastry flexed under the rolling pin, stretching out in no time to soon be the size of the pie tin. Dream finished rolling it out, making sure it was of a good thickness before lifting it and settling it into the greased tin. The bubbling meaty insides of the soon to be pie sat in a pot on the stove, waiting to be poured into the mould.

Footsteps, cautious and slow, echoed behind him. His hand was steady as he scooped out the meat and sauce, filling the base leisurely with a twist of his ladle.

"They asleep?" He asked.

"Y- Yes," BadBoyHalo stuttered, flailing behind him for a moment before stilling awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen. "Very. I gave them a better healing mix and then a small dose of sleeping syrup to help their body cope."

"Good," Dream said, mouth unwilling to say more. He rolled out the second pastry ball, making sure it was large enough to cover the pie as a top before pressing it down over the content filled base. He notched the edges with the blunt end of a knife.

"I, um, did I say something wrong?" Bad whispered after he'd shoved the pie into the oven with a tad more force than needed.

_"I should've known the health potion would be too strong. Diadom's soldiers only ever had access to level two ones, right?"_

Annoyed, Dream brushed his hands off on his jeans and turned around, leaning on the stone counter. Without his mask he felt a tad naked, knowing his eyes were too emotive as he frowned at the demon.

BadBoyHalo fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he waited, downcast.

"They're a child soldier?" He snapped out eventually.

"Uh-" the potion maker blinked. "Not necessarily? There were quite a few older soldiers in the scrimmages, too."

Everyone knew the older, _proper_ soldiers had went insane after two years worth of endless fighting, pushed to cutting their own life threads in seeking escape. That was the whole reason why children had been used, although said information had only circulated long after Technoblade had stepped in. The only older soliders (as in: people over twenty) to have been on the roster by the end of the scrimmages were the commanding officers who'd enforced the use of children to wage wars.

The very thought disgusted Dream. To think that people were forced to fight, some younger than his little sister, Drista, was a horrible reality.

"They're no older than twenty-five, Bad!" He hissed, not knowing Eret's exact age but knowing enough to say that if they'd been forced into the fight, they'd most certainly been _young._ "Of course if they were a solider, they would've been a child. Why the hell did you bring it up in the first place?"

"Language," Bad huffed, frowning heavily. "And I most certainly did not mean to offend them! Or make them react like _that_. It was an ice breaker, I didn't mean to be rude."

"It wasn't just rude, Bad," he sighed, the dinner's timer ticking in his ears. "You crossed a line. What made you think that would be a good ice breaker?"

"You're getting irritated at me when it's not my fault," BadBoyHalo said, patient as ever. It was true: Dream was angry with Bad for hurting Eret, and although it wasn't really Bad's fault, he couldn't help but blame the demon. It was that or blame himself for being the one to call for the demon and bring him into the House. At the root, it was Dream's own fault seeing as he'd been the one to play the cards. "I didn't know that would have such an effect and I definitely didn't want to hurt them. I'll apologise to them again when they've woken from the potions, just as I did when I was mixing the new glass. I regret all of what I said."

He huffed, standing there as Bad made his case. Unwilling to admit his own fault, Dream looked out the window to his right. The sun danced about, saying its final words before sunset truly kicked in. It was nice. He stood and wondered what the view was like from L'Manberg.

Was theirs as pretty or was it uglier? Was the sun biased on who it shone down upon; most likely not.

"Dinner's beef pie," he said finally, after a long bout of quiet. "Will Eret be able to keep it down or should I make them soup?"

"They should wake in twenty minutes or so," Bad said quietly. "They should be able to keep it down but I'll have to see."

"Alright," he nodded. Bad opened his mouth before shutting it with a click, he nodded back before swishing out of the room, retreating back into the open-plan bedroom.

Tommy was just finished running through his sword exercises when he noticed Tubbo lingering to his left. Wil was off bartering with some travelling villager in the neighbouring forest, Fundy accompanying him, and so him and Big Law had been left to dutifully look after their nation.

"Hey, Big Man," he called over, sheathing his sword as Eret had instructed to when moving out of danger or a training simulation. Eret always had a lot to say on his tactics, commenting on everything from his stance to his grip. Tommy knew they just had to lighten up and accept the fact Tommy was far more experienced than they were.

If he couldn't swing a sword around there would've been issues. Yet, despite Eret knowing how good he was, they still taught him as if he was a three year old handling a butterknife. Maybe Eret just didn't understand the concept of winning a war with weapons, although Tommy sure as hell did.

"How y'doin'?" He chattered, bouncing over to Tubbo and lightly knock shoulders with him. The smaller boy stumbled at the hit, blinking up at the blond.

"I'm okay," said the boy. He'd been really quiet after his house and bees had, respectively, been burnt down and scared off.

Tommy knew he wasn't all that good but it wasn't his place to say. There were rules to operating in society and adhering to the lines of masculinity and pride was the main basis of survival. Fundy would scoff and Eret would snicker about something called hubris but Wilbur would nod proudly if told this and that was all Tommy needed.

He was in this to make Wilbur proud, to give his older brother a break from the harsh life that had pushed him down and forced him into searching for joy. Tommy was in this war for his brother and he'd make him happy. Of course, winning was simply something that would happen because he was there.

Tubbo being there too was a bonus, a little reminder that Tommy had things to fight for, for himself, as well. Fundy was there too, for Wilbur, but Tommy had only learnt of him when his brother trudged them into the SMP and explained his plans for a revolution.

A little voice, deep down, asked what Technoblade would think of their sub-standard weapons and squabbled plans. A second voice that sounded an awful lot like his adoptive father wondered if a bundle of drug huts was worth a war.

Which they _were_. These huts were worth a lot more to Tommy than for the manufacture of drugs. There was the people that lived within L'Manberg's proud walls, the children that skipped and played and fell and the widows who fetched well water and the younger teens who ran and helped keep the huts standing. Phil had the Antarctic Empire, Technoblade the entire Northern Continent; he and Wilbur had nothing, yet.

This was their chance to get _something._ Finally.

Everything had meaning, Tommy knew. Things didn't just happen out of the blue. If Wilbur wanted a revolution and that meant war, then there would be war and it was obviously a test of their will for freedom. Phil had waved them off on their journey a few years ago, smiling and joking about a new empire joining the lot, and Tommy swore he'd live up to the expectations set.

"Do you think they're okay?" Tubbo spoke.

Blinking, Tommy looked at his friend and eloquently blurted out the first thing to come to his bright adolescent mind. "What?"

Tubbo looked at him, blue eyes shining in the sunlight. "Eret," he repeated patiently. Tubbo was always so patient. Tommy didn't really see the point in it as an attribute but Tubbo pulled it off well. "Do you think they'll be okay? They've been gone for almost three days now."

"Obviously," he scoffed, not too sure at all. "They know how to use a sword. They're probably sleeping in some tree somewhere, fishing, or something. Fuck knows that's what I'd be doing."

His friend seemed nulled by that. Tommy watched the shorter boy fidget, resting a hand on his shoulder in reassurance. It was an act Philza had done before and always made him feel better. The younger boy looked at him with puppy dog eyes, clearly worried and so, so clingy.

(That was okay, though. Tubbo could be clingy all he wanted, that just meant he'd stick by Tommy's side when he needed him most.)

"They'll be fine, Tubbo," he grinned. "What do you say about a sparring match? Bet I'll win."

"You're on!"


	15. of time forsaken and people lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you were a hybrid, no one cared about you but yourself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is set a month exactly before chapter 11 if you wanna be specific)

**A MONTH AGO**

To every living beings' existence, there was a bane. Within the human race, it was their hatred.

Hatred ran deep, scorching through generations of innocent minds, tainting them cruel. It was the ultimate human flaw: having malleable, soft minds at such young ages that just _s_ _ucked up_ the negative opinions and carried them forth with renewed vigour, having children thrust into systems of violence and preset customs of predation, having children indoctrinated and _trained_ into a way of thinking thanks to parents and pressing factors of learning and encircling opinions.

All too often, Corpse found himself on the rocky fields of hazard. They were barren destered plains of injury and taunts, the uncut, unstoned paths no one dared walk, the shadowed cliffside a human would sooner name cursed than approach the sheep perched upon its granite. Too many sour-bred minds brought with them death and destruction, just as war came hand in hand with horror and casualties.

He knew how far those instilled beliefs went, was familiar with the extent to which their holders would take them. Being a zombie hybrid meant he'd been on the receiving end of those intentions all too often. He'd seen the glares, felt the stones, and ran from the pitchforks, just like so many others had. Half his face was a droopy waxen purple, eye twisted black by sepsis long gone - it had killed him originally, reducing his human body to whatever the fuck it was he had now. The other half of him was pale skin and dull freckles, black hair scraped short by the blunt of a blade, clothes ragged and stained, holey and torn. He probably smelt like a ditch, too.

Having half the body of a corpse and half that of a living homo sapien was real beneficial. Especially when he walked through towns. Fucking hell did the normals _love_ chasing hybrids out of their establishments and off their horse-shit coated streets. They loved to pretend he didn't need to eat and eleep like they did, loved to ignore hybrids' crys for help when starvation ravaged their bodies and disease stiffened their children to lifeless husks soon to be laid to a final rest in cratered ravines of lava and obsidian.

He avoided civilization whenever he could now. (Not like he wanted to go there anyway, not like he needed new clothes or boots or wanted to have a conversation with a living being that could respond for a change. No, not at all. The squirrels liked him just fine and he, them.)

When the scrimmage had been knee-deep in blood and hybrids had openly fought on both sides, the Ram on theirs, the Wither on the others', he'd been one odd face amongst many others. However, once Kings Skeppy and Squid Kid had been banished shit had went sidewards.

(It was then he knew he should've listened to the Wither when they announced their departure. If a fucking creature that thrived on blood and sweat and turmoil was abandoning a country it was because the land had been bled dry. Most would still argue today that the Wither leaving had been the first sign nothing would prevail in the land of destruction and decay.)

In the end, none of the six years everyone used furiously fighting a fantic enemy had mattered. Lives wasted. Time lost. To the humans that took over in place of the Kings, after the Emperor had taken action, not one sacrifice they'd made mattered.

Because they were hybrids. When you were a hybrid, no one cared about you but yourself. Didn't matter if the high and mighty Emperor was a piglin hybrid, nothing like that mattered when _he_ was so high up in the ranks no one could kill him if they _tried._ For the unnamed foot soldiers, they were collateral damage. Canon fodder. Just as they always had been.

Still, to be kicked out from the country he'd fought and toiled and bled over, _for,_ was pure agony. Corpse Husband had been left, stranded, forsaken from his shelter, hunted from the land; all because he was _different_ from the snivelly nosed brats that thought they were better than everyone else.

(Maybe if they had've managed to keep the Wither around for a half-year longer they would've been able to show the humans just _what_ they disliked, educated them on _who_ to truly fear. It wouldn't have been hard for the man to burst a few heads with that piercing, ice cold gaze.)

The year was two-thousand and twenty. The Diadom-Squatra scrimmage had been ended six years ago. Corpse Husband hadn't seen a clean bed in a long time since, not that he'd seen one during the fights _either._ Where the others had gone, his fellow soldiers, he did not know. The faceless gatherings of foot soldiers had wilted off into the woodwork the second the humans turned on them all and the Ram had left with his head held high.

Although to compare the Ram to the general masses was ill-fitting. He'd never been just _anyone,_ always _someone._ The Ram had been the defacto leader of the Squatran side and had led the forces against the Wither's Diadomians. At that point they'd all been children following orders, picking up axes and sharpening them because it was all they knew. That and, of course, the fact that only death from one of the superiors' primed crossbow bolts awaited them if they tried to flee.

Corpse had never agreed with the war. That didn't mean he had no will to live.

(When the Wither had left almost immediately once the fights were settled, most members of the two armies had whispered about them being right. The Wither had never wanted to fight and they'd stopped swinging their axe at the first _real_ chance to stop the scrimmage's uncounted death toll from rising. The Wither had done what many could not; _they'd left_.)

(To leave a war was a sign of strength many could not muster.)

A breeze tickled his blazing campfire, soft wind curdling the flame taller and brighter. He sat on a rotten log, boot soles thick with mud of the bog he'd trodden through earlier that day, cloak damp with the dew of the late night. Nearly a full silver oval, the moon glittered up on the horizon of the tree canopy, barely peeking over the ring of trees Corpse had settled down within.

Civilization was far away, just as he preferred. Most animals were settled down for sleep now, aside from the owls that spoke and the cicadas that sung in the distance. Leaves rustled around him, tumbling around the undergrowth, fuelled by the low whisper of the wind. It was nearing winter, Saovine a near month away.month

A twig cracked to his south-west.

He didn't turn to look, intent on finishing the messy job of gutting the rabbit he'd caught earlier. His usual skinning knife had finally shattered after a few too many years of hard use and he'd been forced into using his sickle to skin and gut the animal. At his side, propped up against both the log and the side of his leg, sat his scythe. Agora's blade sparkled in the dim orange light, yearning for a kill more promising than a rabbit.

(Fighting in a scrimmage had done him no favours. What was a former child soldier to do once out of the fight? Did the empire expect him to kneel and become a farmer?)

(How could he when all he dreamt of was bloodied carcasses and all he wanted to see was the stain of fresh blood under his fingernails?

How could Corpse be anything but the monster the state had moulded him into when they needed and cast aside when they did not?)

"All that blood looks good on you," came a familiar voice, one he hadn't thought he'd hear ever again. "Really brings out your eyes."

"Agora likes the shine," he responded, a commodity for their special brand of soldiers to talk of their weapons as if living beings. "I'm glad you do too, Ram."

The man chuckled, his scheming mind filtering the noise to twist it dirty and sly. _He'd make a good mayor for those backwater towns,_ Corpse thought. _He's got the bold act down._

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Corpse?" Asked the Ram. A shadow strolled up from his peripheral, the languid rigidity form of a man with ram's horns curling around his ears settling down on the log beside him. Corpse's scythe rested on the zombie's left although the ram did not seem to care about the possible threat.

(Not that Corpse would try to kill him. Not unless the Ram said something he didn't like, that was.)

"You still goin' by Corpse these days?" Queried the former leader. "Me personally, I picked out Schlatt a while ago."

"Schlatt's a strong name," Corpse commented, content to sit and watch the fire flicker so long as Schlatt did.

"I know," he agreed. "J. Schlatt. No one's gonna argue with a name like that."

"The J?"

"Jebadiah, or Joshua, maybe." Shrugged the other, tone idle as he talked.

"Jebadiah's nice," the zombie hybrid noted before side eyeing the ram hybrid. The grey cloak he wore was ragged and dirty, his black trousers dyed by the dust of the road. Walking boots were thin soled and well-worn.

Corpse would bet the other hybrid was in the same situation as he was.

"Why are you here, Ram?"

Those horns turned, a love-sick grin on a gaunt face full of determination. Corpse Husband looked and saw a dangerous man, emboldened by lack of substance but lightened all the more in passion for it.

"What do you say about getting a bit of equality round here?"

His chest throbbed, stones and spit and pitchforks and glares digging, and stabbing and searing through, into, at, him. Illuminated by the roar of a fire, the Ram was strong, hardened by a war they'd both fought and survived. Sitting beside him, Corpse felt his will roll off him in tangible waves, knew nothing but the Wither was comparable to the Ram when he had a quest in mind.

He'd give anything to stand by the side of a man he knew. The only difference between the Ram and another man was that he _deserved_ lives to be lost over him. Corpse was in on the plan no matter what it was, honoured to simply have been sought out for the Ram's cause.

"I'm listening," he beckoned.


	16. hallucinations or dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what eret sees of their dead friends arent flashbacks. theyre hallucinating they are with them.

They couldn't believe it had nearly been a week. Eret had been away from L'Manberg for a whole, entire _week_.

(Soot was going to scream something fierce.)

It was as if they were a new person; a complex identity shoved into a new body. Bedridden for four days and left to hobble around for the latter three BadBoyHalo had been a great help, once they'd gotten over the shock of their first meeting. His potions and healing syrups were useful and better than anything they'd seen in a long time, possibly _ever._

The SMPers had been a tad standoffish towards the demon hybrid, and though Eret couldn't wrestle a proper answer out of anyone, they were half sure it had something to do with the sudden revealing of their past allegiance. It was confusing, to say the least, for they couldn't understand why someone would be annoyed at another person for talking.

(They knew normals were weird but they were taking these levels to heights previously unseen.)

"You're sure?" Dream asked, fretting when on the seventh day they proclaimed a want to return to the walled city of doom. "You have everything you need? We don't mind you being here, Eret."

"I'm feeling much better," they responded, unsure how to respond to Dream's sudden compassionate side. Eret had never complied with emotions, only really ever to understand Elaina and her aloofness; Scot had always been too all-knowing, Jameskii too jovial - a prankster in a ragged, thin frame of waxen skin and muddied boots.

"I need to get the walls finished," they said eventually, after a peaceful pause where Dream hadn't stopped fiddling with the strap of his mask. The SMPers were getting tired of the children's war they took part in, wanted more than a simple arson job and crumbling walls.

Eret was tired too, oft. They didn't care if L'Manberg fell, though they did care when it happened. They needed time to plan, needed to plot out how their betrayal would go, to have maximum effect. Time was preferred to pull obvious dents in the plans into smooth lines.

But not many people were as patient as them. Not many ever had been.

"Alright," Dream had relented, caving just as Eret knew he would under their Jameskii-inspired smile. "Be safe, yeah?"

_It's as if I've never fought_ _a war_ _before,_ they thought and nodded along.

The dirty blond (funnily, he was turning into more of a brunette with each passing day) man's words followed them to the gates of L'Manberg, where a measly pit stared up at them and begged for a chance. Still, looking at the familiar blackstone even from a distance the thought prevailed through their center. It nagged them, wriggling in the back of their mind as a worm would through soil; insistent and savage.

Did the SMPers not trust them? That would be troublesome. Especially if Dream harboured such feelings. Eret had never much cared for sides or picking boundaries to stand by, although they knew most people chose morals and usually stuck to them. Normals moreso than any other being - if the SMPers had gotten it into their heads that Eret wasn't to be trusted it would take a lot more than some smiling to regain their stability.

Such was one reason why Eret preferred to walk the path of life alone. To be noted: the more foremost reason of their isolation was mainly due to their family being dead, their loved ones now mirages that haunted their peripheral and murmured to them when they slept. Sometimes they whispered to them when they were awake, as well.

_"I'm tired,"_ Jameskii would divulge on long, lingering nights where the nightshift seemed lengthier than usual and the opposition was specially restless. He said this on the days he was more quiet than usual, the statement typically predated by a bout of silence before the words were pushed out as if a sea emitting a decade-old boulder.

When Scot and Elaina had been alive, Jameskii had always been happy. After they'd died, a little part of Eret had vanished with them and a bigger part of Jameskii had shrivelled up and died. They were fifteen, an age where most didn't know the loss of a friend nevermind family.

_"So am I,"_ Eret used to reply, gaze firmly ahead to pretend the unwanted tears on Jameskii's cheeks weren't there for both their sakes.

The sky was a bright blue, white puffy clouds hugging it tight as if they'd fall if they loosened. Their stone fortress was a cruel backdrop against the lush fields and the gentle chirup of nature.

Once, years ago, perhaps the sight would've disheartened them. Mayhaps even made their stomach knot and their jaw tighten. Now the blight upon the land was a soother for their heart, a reassurance for their head. A fortress meant safety. Eret needed safety.

Because L'Manberg was never going to be safe and the SMP did not trust them. In all fairness, would they trust anyone who'd betrayed another for their cause?

_(No.)_

Maybe.

The drawbridge was half-built, the walls tall enough to keep any predators or mobs out but no more. It was estimated to take them a few more months to finish the build, although that had been before their muscles spasmed after too long in bed and their head felt all light and breezy.

Being a fortress, Eret's home - lair, abode, stockpile location? - was half submerged in the stone, with only one floor prevailing out of the dirt. In fact, despite how everyone called their place a castle (likely due to the sturdy walls they'd built alongside their wooden drawbridge), the building looked no better than a small shack.

Underground was where all the interesting things were, so far. The only place they felt safe after they'd realised how open the upper floor was.

Scot didn't like things being right in front of people, moreso if it was giving them information they didn't deserve. On his whispers, they'd taken a pikaxe and slogged away a near month back and had hollowed out quite a bit of the land. Not directly under the small (soon to be large) structure, for not even they were that _stupid._

The alleged basement of the fortress was actually just a dud room. They'd store a few things there, sure, to keep up the ruse in case somebody came knocking, but otherwise there was a smooth passageway clawed out of the darkness of the deepest corner. To the west of the castle, under where the drawbridge began, lay the true innards of their safe place.

It was here Eret stood now, about six stories under sea level. They'd rocked out rooms: a general small room where they planned to put anything comfortable; a room with a running stream trickling down a crack in the wall as their bathroom (complete with a hole in the ground that dropped straight down to lava as their latrine); the largest room of all was the most chilly and thus the food pantry, all cracks well sealed before they even placed crackers there. Aside from those three rooms, they also scooped out an alcove for their books and armour and anything else they needed to get quick access to (found in the first room, the comfy one). There was also four bedrooms.

Jameskii liked his bedroom. He would've put his armour shoulderplate in a chest had Scot not pointed out that the valuables should stay in the satchelbag Eret had put in the alcove. It was there if they needed to make a quick escape and they'd found themself hard pressed to permanently take anything out of it.

It didn't help they'd dropped it too heavily and had cracked a chain loop on Elaina's old necklace. Elaina had went silent on them for a few days after that and even Jameskii had looked disappointed.

"Are you going to sleep?" Elaina asked in the present, nestled between the blankets and soft, warm things they'd accumulated over the years of wandering. They were in the comfy room, alone.

"Where are the others?" They asked, dropping down onto the mayhem of wool. They'd managed to cheat the system, finding that creating a large enough wooden frame with wool nailed to the four sides created a bed-spawn point if slept atop. It was a beautiful solution when they had no way to get a real mattress, especially with their funds. The bed upstairs was much the same, except now a dummy incase anyone wished to break their spawn.

Ela smiled at them, her arms stretching out to beckon them to hold her. They did, wrapping arms around her cold frame. "They'll be here in a sec."

Ted's Wrath hummed behind them. Eret sighed, breath ghosting a cloud before their face in the Overworld's autumn-chill. "G'night, Ela."

"Goodnight, Eret." She murmured. "Sleep well."

They woke to the cold of a lonesome cave hollowed out by hand with the brief realisation they needed to go back to L'Manberg very soon.

"Eret!" A voice called.

Tubbo burst out from behind the gates, grinning a thousand watt smile that was ten times brighter than Tommy's charisma grin. There was a brief surge of fondness for the boy that Eret quickly quelled. Connections got you killed, liking the other side was a tempt of fate.

The sun was nice today; leaves on the ground, all colours. The dusky gloom of L'Manberg could possibly be ignored. If one was blind.

Eret wasn't blind and they saw the city for every rat infested crack and jungle sap-caused hole it was. They saw the half-finished slave driving project that was Fundy's fancy. Soot would be _pleased_ to see them back, they knew.

"You're back!"

_Blood on their hands, an axe shattered in the soil, their dead brother's head in their lap._ _Eret wept and wept and wept in the memory of a boy they would be the sole mourner of._

"Yeah, I am." They smiled and let Tubbo plunge into them, his thin arms wrapping around them. L'Manberg evidently hadn't found any food surplus in their week of absence and the thin gauntness of Tubbo's growing frame spoke troublesomely of this.

Tommy appeared by the gate, leaning on it as he tipped his head. He looked thin and older too, warped by war and weakened by their wasteland of a city.

_Never lay siege on a walled city._

"How have you both been?" They chirped, façade slipping into place. The tired, muscle-cramping Eret was gone, replaced by friendly war-companion, wall builder revolutionist. "I got caught up in a mapping glitch and my comm wouldn't work. Has anything important happened?"

The lie slipped softly off their tongue. It was easy to tell tall tales to people you didn't care about; easier to tell half-truths and omit facts when talking to those you loved. Eret had never been caught in a mapping glitch (one where the land was shook by an earthquake that resulted in the walker going in circles until they managed to climb out of the swamp mist-caused illusion) although Scot had once. He'd talked about it a lot, keen to make sure they all knew how to get out of them after he'd lost his father to it.

"Well, big man," Tommy began. "You've gotta meet Jack Manifold. We took out a group of skeletons last night on patrol!"

"Do tell," they broached, free hand curling through Tubbo's crampt locks as the boy stuck to their side, a limpet to a rock. L'Manberg was a dark cloud in a storm, although perhaps the children were not.

Eret found themself blinking. Since when had they cared about children?

Tommy rambled on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GO CHECK OUT MY MAFIA AU: ARKHOS!!!!! 
> 
> :D

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr: hit me up and i might just see it. 
> 
> https://evieevyevie.tumblr.com


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